This is Story Four in the Jughead-is-held-hostage-and-stuff series (working title). Lots of characters do lots of things, but Beggars Can't Be Choosers (the first story) sets it all up. Stories 1-3 are clearly labeled and I'll love hearing from anyone discovering them now (hello!), or from brave souls taking on story four as a standalone (so very brave!) - and most of all from those folks committed to reading The Whole Thing, and those on this crazy ride with me from one chapter to the next.
Welcome!
If you read the prequels, you know what's coming. There were just a few loose ends. And we can't have that. :)
Enjoy!
-Button
Prologue
FP felt Brand trying to reach his wrists again, and tried to angle his arms more helpfully. Frustratingly, it was impossible to return the favor and work on Brandon's bonds at the same time, but FP hoped they'd be able to pick up speed once one of them - FP, apparently - was freed.
They needed to hurry. The teens were alone, unprotected, and it had been long enough that anything might already be happening.
Lightning lit everything up again.
There was very little chance that the teens would not be all together, getting ready to wait out the storm as a group. They'd be tragically easy pickings.
"We really need to get this guy," Brand's voice was rough with anger. "He's not going to give up."
FP had been less successful in dislodging his own gag, but he grunted his muffled, emphatic agreement.
They were silent for a few moments, Brand still working to figure out the knots. He growled when his fingers slipped off of the ropes. "We are screwed."
FP closed his eyes and leaned his head back in helpless frustration.
Agreeing with Brandon still felt wrong, but he was afraid that they were on the same page: this was really not good.
Chapter One
Thursday, nine days after the events of Debrief Is A Verb
Jughead was taking the long way home from school.
He needed to clear his head. Again.
The streets were starting to show yet another change as Jughead explored aimlessly, slowly looping his way around Riverdale before he'd eventually head home: there was more space between each property here, and the houses were larger and seemed to be empty of people. There must not be a lot of families with children on this street. Jughead had never noticed before, but each street seemed to have its own vibe.
A sedan with dark-tinted windows pulled up alongside the sidewalk where Jughead was walking. Crap.
"Get in the car, kid." The voice was cold and more than a little threatening.
Jughead glared in response. "I'm just walking home from school."
"It's not even scenic here, so let's not play this game," Brandon Davies leaned over to open the passenger door from the inside for Jughead.
"Brand, I'm just walking."
"Uh-huh. If you're not in this car before I start driving, we'll see if you're still walking for long."
Jughead got in then.
"Is school really that bad?" Brand asked as they drove toward the Joneses' house. His tone held a warning. "Your dad didn't tell you to come straight home for his health, but don't you think for one minute that he's going to make it to old age if you keep this up."
Jughead gave him a look.
"What? I'm going to live forever because I have learned to compartmentalize." Brand thought that over for a moment. "Although, you know who's looking like they're trying to screw that up for me? The teen wonder familiar-" Jughead swatted him then, earning a smirk "-belonging to a very nasty monster. Even Trigger knows that your dad is going to shoot me in cold blood if you keep pulling stunts like this while I'm on babysitting duty. And you can see it in his eyes: that dog's gonna be the one to bring FP the shotgun."
Jughead had to hide a smile. Trigger definitely liked his dad more than he liked Brand, which actually bothered both of them immensely.
"Aha," Brand jogged his shoulder. "There he is. Don't let anyone see you, though; I'm pretty sure Riverdale's got a new bylaw about you being happy, let alone smiling. Community service at a minimum."
That got rid of the smile in a hurry. Brand just smirked again at Jughead's renewed scowl.
Brand had rented an extended stay hotel room nearby, and would be there for the two weeks remaining between now and their upcoming interview, but he was spending a lot of time at the house. Nobody had thought it would be a good idea for him to move in, however, least of all Mary Andrews, who approved of the plan to set up a joint interview with Brand and Jughead sitting down for their first television appearance together - but who most emphatically did not approve of anything else that FP was doing by inviting Brand back into their lives.
But then, she didn't know about the threatening notes. Or the fact that the police and FBI had not deemed them 'credible,' which told them two things: that there were possibly a number of low-grade threats along those lines against Jughead coming from various directions, and also that they were on their own dealing with this issue. At least for now. If something 'escalated,' they were told, then action would be taken.
There had been another two notes by the time they got their mail from the Andrews' home, and more had been arriving steadily since they'd gotten the mail forwarded to the new address.
"School's fine." Jughead had insisted on going back only a day after being released from the hospital, sore but mostly functional on mild painkillers, but it was proving harder and harder to 'just get through' the final weeks of the year. Jughead was pretty sure Ms. Cardell was going to fail the paper he'd just turned in, and today his math teacher had made him do problems on the board from an entirely different class just to try and screw with him - excuse me, to try and 'challenge him.' The Blue and Gold was now officially off-limits, goodbye editorship, and Alice was looking at him like he'd stolen Trig from her instead of from the drug dealers.
Archie wasn't allowed to hang out with Jughead anywhere but on school property or at the Andrews' home, with a parent present, for as long as Brand was in town. No sleepovers.
Jughead knew that Mr. Andrews was upset about Archie being endangered over Trigger and the drug dealers, and he of all people understood how messed up things could be when your guardian didn't want something - so he didn't blame Archie for things being weird now. But it certainly made everything harder.
Jughead couldn't even look Fred Andrews in the eye anymore, knowing how he felt about everything. And Mr. Andrews had a very good point. Jughead had screwed up, and Archie had been endangered. So had Betty. Trigger had almost been killed - by pretty much everyone who came in contact with him, if Brand was to be believed on the subject.
A lot of expensive man hours and equipment had been mobilized, which meant they hadn't been available for other emergencies if any had occurred. Jughead hadn't asked questions about that when he'd sat through that particular lecture, sensing it would only sound like an excuse - if there hadn't been another emergency - or else it would make him feel even more guilty than he already did. He hoped that nobody had died, and left it at that.
The Coopers had sent a large bill for the water damage Jughead and Brand had apparently caused to the back seat of Hal's car, and a few other expenses - including an outrageously expensive parking ticket. FP had raised an eyebrow over an extra charge for "detailing," but he'd long since accepted that he was going to have to pay for his son's actions. Jughead had winced when he scribbled out the check almost violently, but without so much as a syllable of protest.
Sheriff Keller had been surprisingly supportive and comforting in the hospital, but later on an article in The Register had made it very clear that Jughead had made his job - not to mention his reputation and perhaps even his continued employment - vastly more challenging.
Jughead was thoroughly learning a lesson that Brand had always been fond of pointing out: apologizing only went so far.
Finals were coming up quickly as well. That wouldn't be a problem in some subjects, but Jughead really could have used some tutoring in others. Mrs. Cooper had objections about Betty spending time with him - likely similar to Fred Andrews', but something about 'cavorting with drug dealers' had been audible even to Jughead before FP had hung up the phone on her - and so, along with any chance of walking home from school with Betty, their study sessions were 'on hold.' They wouldn't have to be on hold for long, either, before it was a moot point.
"Did you do your homework?" Brand's tone changed now.
He wasn't talking about school any longer.
"Yeah."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Nope." Jughead was officially breaking his partial media fast in preparation for the joint interview, and so far his reaction - pretty much from start to finish - was deep embarrassment. Knowing that everyone else had been reading, hearing, and watching all of this, while he'd had no idea for so many weeks what everyone thought of him, was mortifying.
There was some anger, too. He should probably admit that, at least to himself.
Maybe even a lot of anger.
Brand promised that their interview would turn the tide, though, and Jughead wanted to believe that. It was incredibly uncomfortable feeling so exposed to the world, with all of those reporters making a living by dramatizing, rehashing, and overanalyzing parts of his life. Now that the drug dealer incident had caught the wind like a sail, it was even more of a nightmare.
Apparently being famous for his 'involvement' in a huge bust in Toronto meant that being subsequently caught completely flat-footed by incompetent drug dealers was clickbait-worthy. So far nobody understood that it had all been about Trigger - that it had been impulsive - and instead they assumed that he'd been acting as some sort of a vigilante and trying to make a citizen's arrest or something.
The headlines alone were enough to make him see red, let alone the quotes from classmates - mostly ones who barely knew him, which was both a relief and a sore point - about FP and the Serpents and how 'inevitable' it had been for Jughead to end up in some sort of drug-den-related mess.
Alice Cooper had started printing vitriolic letters to the editor about 'the state of Riverdale,' and none of them suggested that Jughead had helped anything by 'shaming the town' through being 'stupid while famous.' Infamous. Whatever you wanted to call him. Even Mary Andrews couldn't get that to stop, and Jughead honestly felt like he deserved it.
It boiled down to this: he'd embarrassed everyone by incompetently trying to save Trigger and by being enough of a curiosity that now the entire country (and then some) thought Riverdale was a drug haven - and that drugs had most likely moved into Riverdale because its citizens were total idiots. Or something along those lines.
Bizarrely, a lot of Jughead's fear responses had started to calm down since he had been attacked and nearly drowned. He trusted Brand's analysis more than his therapist's on the subject of why that might be, too.
According to the counselor, Jughead was 'adjusting' and coming to rely on his support network appropriately. Finally. Being rescued from drowning had given him the assurances he needed in order to trust those around him.
Brand called that 'psychobabble' and simply pointed out that Jughead had been at least partially at fault for the incident occurring - and so it was something he felt confident he'd be able to avoid in the future - and that he'd also been very hard to handle, even for five full-grown adults. When they'd tried to murder a chained-up teenager he'd managed to move heaven and earth to stay alive long enough to be rescued, when by rights Jughead should have been dead long before Brand managed to get to him.
According to Brand, he'd earned his newfound confidence in the 'crucible of combat.'
Brand had actually started to say something about a 'baptism,' whether of fire or water, before he'd thought better of that phrasing. Jughead hadn't even mocked him for it, since he hadn't actually pulled the trigger on the pun - and it seemed best forgotten.
FP liked to say that Jughead should take Brand with 'a shaker or three of salt.' But FP hadn't actually backed up the counselor on that one, so Jughead figured that meant Brand was right. Except for that crucible of combat thing, which sounded a little too military for the ragged drug dealers he'd been up against.
Brand tried to make the confidence stick, though. He encouraged Jughead to 'own it.'
FP seemed more like he didn't trust that his son's sudden new confidence was permanent, and so he tried not to mention it explicitly. Jughead had the same fear, so he appreciated that. With his dad he could act like it was just another day, and this was simply how things were for now. Take it as it came.
But nobody had told Jughead about the shocking vacuum that fear could leave behind when it shifted abruptly - and that vacuum sometimes being filled with something like aggression. Or what Brand termed his 'self-destructive streak.'
FP called it 'being stupid.'
Jughead called it 'blowing off steam.'
"How's Betty?" Brand had apparently had enough silence for one car ride.
"She's fine."
"Got that car yet?"
The Coopers had decided that a new car would be more useful to Betty if she had it sooner - which might have something to do with the fact that she'd taken Hal's car to race Jughead to the hospital.
"Not yet." Jughead suspected she would wait for him to be able to come along and look at cars. He wasn't sure when her parents would allow that, though.
"I'll buy her one. What's she want?"
"Do not buy her a car," Jughead sighed. Brand was officially part of the Betty Cooper fan club, which was actually kind of great, except that he was so unpredictable. Jughead tried to keep up with him - as much as he could, anyway - but comments like that threw him for a loop regularly.
"Do you want to train when we get back? Trigger can stand a session in the backyard."
They'd thankfully never had to learn the hard way to contain Trigger while training. Jughead was entirely clear on that from his experiences with the drug dealers.
And this idea actually sounded fantastic. Jughead had been thrilled to get back to training, and so far that had been one of the best things about having Brand around. Particularly with the knowledge that his dad would make sure Brand never pushed anything too far.
Not that they trained in front of FP. They just made sure there weren't any obvious marks.
Brand had suggested that FP would not be cool with them resuming training in any fashion, and at first Jughead had thought that was unlikely - the training had saved his life, after all - but then his dad had come home from work the previous week and found them playfully roughhousing in the kitchen over Jughead using up the hot water yet again in a fruitless attempt to hurry along the hypothermia's lingering effects.
FP had been carrying his shotgun - a very recent purchase - when he slammed the front door open, and Brand had thrown Jughead behind the kitchen island and was going for his own sidearm before it became clear what was going on.
If they'd actually been training, or if Brand's first instinct had not been to protect Jughead, it might have ended very differently than it had: with threats and yelling, but no bloodshed. They'd all had ice cream afterward, which ended up marking the beginning of a tradition whenever Brand and FP fought too badly. Brand had bandaged up Jughead's shoulder where he'd hit the corner of the fridge. So maybe there actually was some bloodshed, come to think of it. Jughead had just been grateful that his shoulder had taken the hit and not his head.
FP had overseen all of that with a scowl, one hand on the shotgun for longer than was really necessary, but even so Jughead knew things were better with him.
A lot better.
So maybe things didn't feel great right now, but school actually would end soon. They'd do their interview. And then Jughead would go on vacation with his dad.
He could do this.
"Yeah, let's train. Then can we go over some chemistry?" Jughead figured that if he couldn't work with Betty, Brand was the next best thing.
"Sure thing, kid," Brand reached over to tousle his hair. "Just like old times. I'm still not teaching you anything fun or useful, though, so don't get any ideas."
Jughead rolled down his window slightly and trailed his hand in the wind. The weather was starting to really feel like summer, and hopefully sometime soon he'd be able to really enjoy it.
00000
FP got home from work just before seven pm and surveyed the scene at their new dining room table.
It looked a little too innocent.
Brandon was typing away on his laptop, looking up only to nod once in confirmation that everything had gone smoothly with Jughead - from walking straight home from school to doing homework right away before taking Trig out - and that FP didn't need to follow up about any of it.
FP wasn't sure he believed that when he saw Jughead avoid eye contact while scribbling through some kind of short answer assignment that would normally have been completed hours earlier.
This whole arrangement was on the brink of disaster, FP knew, and the only question in his mind was whether they would manage to hold that disaster at bay through the two weeks that remained until the interview - or if the disaster was already in progress and he just hadn't realized it yet.
Fred seemed to favor the latter interpretation of the situation.
Work had been fine, and in many ways a relief, but FP had not appreciated Fred casually joining him during their lunch break as if he hadn't turned traitor along with the entire town.
Apparently there were 'two sides' to the situation.
FP could not agree more: there was a right side and a wrong side.
Jughead finished his assignment while FP was pulling out leftovers to reheat for dinner. Slamming the textbooks shut, Jughead scooped them up and started carrying them toward the stairs and his bedroom.
"Are you... limping?" FP had been watching for any delayed symptoms stemming from Jughead's closed head injury, but this seemed bizarre.
Jughead straightened his gait out instantly, but FP didn't miss the flash of a wince across his face when he did so.
"What happened?" FP demanded. Now he looked from Jughead to Brandon, who was looking up from his laptop with an expression that looked suspiciously more like 'what did you expect?' than 'I am so incredibly sorry that I failed miserably during my brief shift protecting your son.'
"I fell down the stairs," Jughead said with more than a little attitude. He must have noticed Brandon's expression as well.
Those two had some very, very irritating dynamics.
"You," FP pointed at Jughead. "In your room. And calm that dog down."
Trig was audibly throwing something around to amuse himself in the upstairs hallway. In the back of his mind, FP knew he'd started to lose some of the good habits he'd developed for helping Jughead regain his autonomy - asking questions, not ordering him to do things, and so on.
But when Jughead stopped and weighed FP's words, visibly debating the consequences versus any benefit he might gain by defying his father, FP figured this change was not wholly inappropriate.
Autonomy was back, and it was angry.
FP didn't quite reminisce about the bad old days when Jughead agreed to anything he suggested, as if his brain simply could not engage with the world. For the most part he didn't, anyway.
Jughead did not quite stomp up the stairs, but that might be related to his limp. FP certainly wasn't giving him any credit for not acting even more recalcitrant.
"Brandon."
FP turned to the man who had been hired to hold his son hostage, abducted and endangered him for still-unknown reasons, most likely been forced to bring him back to FP as part of some insane arrangement that included a cushy new job - and then seen fit to save his son's life. The man who was even now putting himself between Jughead and danger by watching over him during the hours after school before FP got home from work, and investigating the vague threats that just kept on coming.
This was the man over whom FP was fighting Mary Andrews, battling Fred, and seeing his son isolated from friends. All because Brandon might be their best shot at getting over a media frenzy hump that kept getting bigger. And because he was the single best-equipped person FP knew for protecting Jughead from whatever was brewing - and, whatever his reasons might be, apparently the person in second place for 'most motivated to keep Jughead safe.'
"Get the hell out of my house."
00000
FP finished heating up dinner and brought two plates up to Jughead's room.
Jughead was lying on his bed with a book.
"What have you got there?" FP sat down on the bed and held a heaping plate out to Jughead.
"A book," Jughead's tone was sarcastic, but then he sighed and his body slumped wearily. "I should be studying, though."
"Worried about finals?"
"I was supposed to have a tutor," Jughead kept his eyes on his plate.
"Yeah. Alice is-," FP figured he shouldn't lose all of the habits he'd learned while living at the Andrews', "complicated."
"Which one?" Jughead seemed to realize what he'd just said and quickly continued. "Not that I'm talking to either."
"I know." FP was getting the sense that Jughead needed to be cut some slack right about now. "Want to talk me through what you're studying? Have some company?"
"I was going to study with Brand," Jughead had overheard his godfather being kicked out of the house. He felt a little badly, but Brand had been the one who'd thrown him so hard while they were training. Jughead hadn't expected that he'd have to hide a banged up hip from his dad, and while he hadn't intentionally let on that something had happened… there was a part of Jughead that didn't want to have too many more secrets from his dad with Brand.
"He's pretty smart," FP said easily. "Much better to study with, I'm sure."
"You need me to tell you that I love you? That I don't want to trade you in at the dad store?" Jughead's words were sarcastic, but his tone was more vulnerable than he'd meant for it to come out.
"At least get cash and not store credit," FP patted Jughead's knee, after making sure he was not jostling the leg he'd been limping on. "Now, there's nothing quite like talking politics over dinner," FP stretched out at the foot of the bed and took a bite of mashed potatoes. "Is that something you're studying? We can start there."
"I'll get my books," Jughead set his plate on his bedside table with a quick warning gesture toward Trig. The dog listened, but only if he knew you were paying attention.
"Just tell me you're not doing Tennyson," FP shivered. "That's probably junior or senior year, though, huh?"
"I'm doing all right in Lit," Jughead pulled two books out of his stack. "You're stuck with the bottom of the barrel subjects tonight."
"Just go slowly," FP cautioned with a smirk. "Your old man put in a full day of work and this didn't go so well the first time around."
Jughead sighed, but ten minutes later he was finding that coming up with answers for his dad's attentive questions was helping immensely - it was all making more sense, and they were covering ground quickly. He was learning.
If only that was what determined academic success.
00000
"Hey, man," Archie greeted Jughead at their usual lunch table.
Jughead looked like he'd been up all night. Archie reminded himself that it was not his problem; Jug would bring it up - or not - and that was fine. His dad had been talking him down for a few days now, since it felt really awful losing close daily contact with Jughead. And to have Brandon be the reason for that. Again.
Archie was starting to have nightmares now, just when they'd thought those had been exorcised from the house.
"Hi Archie," Jughead looked up, crossing his eyes at his friend and affecting a zombie voice: "Finals are coming."
"Yeah, I'm aware," Archie smiled. "We've got weeks, though. Don't kill yourself studying just yet. Are you feeling like you'll be ready?"
"Right about now I'm feeling schooled," Jughead smiled darkly. "Want to get together and play video games or something this weekend? Break the cycle of madness for a little while?"
"Uh," Archie had already made plans with Veronica. "Look, normally I'd invite you - we're going to Sweetwater River - but-,"
"Hey, say no more," Jughead hoped his voice was as blithe as it sounded in his head. "That's got to be the first trip out there of the season, right? I bet Veronica's really looking forward to it."
"To what?" Betty joined them now, sitting next to Jughead.
"Sweetwater River this weekend," Jughead explained. His breath caught when Betty leaned over in front of him to address Archie.
"Wait, tomorrow at two, right? You didn't change things up did you?" Betty turned to face Jughead before leaning back, and in the awkward position their faces were suddenly really close. Betty grinned and held the position for a playful moment before she sat back into her seat. "You can make it too, right, Jug?"
"Uh, yeah, but - I mean, no. I can't," Jughead suddenly processed what she'd been asking and gave Betty a mock-suspicious smile. "Betty Cooper, are you asking if I'll sneak around with you behind your mother's back?"
Betty's mother had basically echoed the Andrews' policy once she'd heard about it: only hanging out on school property or in the Coopers' home with at least one parent present.
"Hey, I'm not gonna-," Archie put his hands up.
"No, no, I'm not going to kick you out of your own plan," Jughead quickly reassured Archie. "It's just… nice to hear. That's all."
Veronica joined them now. "Finals are already kicking my butt!"
"Yeah, same," Jughead and Veronica shared a look of solidarity.
"We were just saying that we've got weeks, Jughead," Archie's tone had a slight edge. "You literally just said that you need a break from studying this weekend."
Jughead blinked, confused by the abrupt shift in the conversation's tone. "Uh, yeah. I just-,"
"It's sophomore year. It barely even counts." Archie was making meaningful eye contact now and his tone was even harsher.
"Whoa, whoa - calm down. You can slack all you want, Archiekins," Veronica tried to defuse the suddenly charged moment. "But Jughead's got a lot of ground to cover-,"
"Yeah. Jughead does. Not the rest of us."
Betty's eyes widened now. "Um, Arch? Are you okay?"
Jughead looked stricken. Archie maintained his aggressive eye contact, though. "Right?"
"Yeah," Jughead dropped his eyes, embarrassed and confused. "It's just me and - all that jazz."
"And even you're taking a break this weekend."
"Yeah." Jughead made eye contact again and had a sudden, disturbing flash to when Brand had pinned him against the counter in Toronto and told him exactly how life was run in his household. He figured silence had worked then and might work again now.
Archie didn't look away, though.
"I'm taking a break this weekend," Jughead finally repeated, searching his best friend's eyes for whether that was what he wanted from him.
"Good." Archie took a deep breath and let it out in a rush.
Veronica abruptly slid her chair back, picked up her lunch, and walked away without a word. Archie stared after her, but the tense lines of his expression didn't change.
That was when Jughead realized that their exchange had not been about him. Something else was wrong.
00000
"So, you have your assignments. It's the final edition, so make it fun!" Alice heard herself almost chirping at Betty and the two freshman reporters who had signed on to learn the ropes and then write more seriously for The Blue and Gold the following year. But then, she was nervous.
This was the edition. This was finally it. She'd already written a rambling, word-vomit first draft of the tell-all article.
Even in its overly-long form, with a desperate need for editing and fact-checking, it was already taking a very specific shape that Alice liked: it was fair. It was generous in some places, without sacrificing objectivity. It was honest. It was a story that would tempt the tabloids, and with (a lot of) revision it could be presented in a manner that would still fly with the journals.
Alice was proud: she'd become the valkyrie she always imagined, avenging her father. A reporter in search of the truth. The public had a right to know.
But at the same time: her feet could not have been colder.
Jonas - Jughead - had nearly been killed less than two weeks ago. Was Alice seriously considering doing this?
The school paper would only be the launching point, too, before her article would springboard instantly to news outlets that were foaming at the mouth for any new details to churn since the latest story had broken. Alice's mother was thrilled about the events and their timing, which was truly sickening - and increasingly typical of her.
Jughead really seemed fine, though. In fact, Alice thought there was something of a swagger to his walk since he'd returned to school so shockingly quickly after his brief hospitalization.
Apparently he hadn't been nearly as injured as everyone had feared for about five minutes. He was also really motivated to get through as much as he could of the school year.
And now, suddenly, Jughead's voice could be heard in the halls. His shoulders seemed like they actually took up space.
He wasn't Jonas. Not entirely. He was the younger, more relaxed version of Jonas that he'd been claiming existed, but until now shown no evidence of ever having been.
And he had a new smile. Or maybe it was an old smile, newly resurrected.
It mostly came out for Betty, but every so often he'd just be thinking about something and his whole face lit up with an almost-embarrassed grin. It was as if he was self-conscious about being quite so happy, reluctant to let on that anything had reached him so effectively, and yet he couldn't quite hide it.
There was something else that had appeared, too. Moments when Jughead became exactly what he had looked like in Toronto: trouble.
Alice probably wouldn't have caught on to that little change so quickly, but she'd been entirely unable to keep herself from noticing him. And so she saw when the Bulldogs brushed past him a little too closely and his shoulders squared instead of yielding. She saw the combative flick of his eyebrows when someone commented about his math class and the teacher who had begun tormenting him in a nearly chest-thumping display of power and control in the classroom.
She also saw him leave school in a different direction every day this week.
So something had changed, and it was mostly good. An elusive piece of the puzzle had clicked back into place and Jughead Jones was officially home again, body and soul.
But there was a tinge of something else. Now that he wasn't jumping away from shadows, it seemed like maybe he'd finally begun to realize - understand - exactly what had been taken from him. And perhaps he wanted a little justice. Something to even up the score.
It seemed like maybe he wanted to use the echoes of what had been done to him to make his world bigger than it ever would have been had he simply had the normal life they had all been promised. He'd defy every prediction and successfully reclaim his life - and then some.
Alice understood that feeling.
00000
And we're off!
Second disclaimer about the nature of August: I want to spoil you. I'll try to spoil you. But schedules go into the mixer and I'll be here when I can - and that will be less than over the summer. Reviews always help!
I really hope you enjoyed the kick-off. :)
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