Hello! It's been a busy, busy few weeks of work and I wish it was about to be perfect and amazingly light forever, but no. Maybe December will be easier, though, and in any event - writing as stress relief will happen, and always be a welcome break. I hope you are having a lovely start to November!
Skyrider45, thank you so much for your kind reviews! And yes, whew about Fred! (and I laughed about the diabolical idea of killing Brand now that you had all been distracted... muahaha...) I love that you're keeping track of everyone (as much as anyone can!), since we've entered that confusing territory where everyone is doing different things in tandem. And I'm so glad you like the quieter moments - and FP and Wilson. I'm enjoying the challenge of writing those two, since it's very different from most of what we've seen. I hope you like this chapter as well!
LeafGreene01, I loved that the chapter surprised you and left you speechless. I'm so proud that it was unexpected but still feels right! :-D The chaos is spilling all over, and I think you're not the only one eyeing Jughead as a loose end that could cause a whole lot of trouble. And Archie in the hospital, for that matter! I hope you also enjoy this chapter! :)
Natureliebeneath, I am SO relieved. Thank you for your generous forgiveness! (and also remember this moment when writing YOUR next chapter... :-D), and your lovely review! Also for your continued eagerness for each chapter. :) Brand is definitely getting to explore his not-invincible side, though I am with you in thinking he has a better shot than most of recovering. We shall see how that takes place, though! I also laughed about the zero self-preservation instinct comment re: Jug. I'll be very curious about your reaction to this chapter. He's trying so hard! Thank you so much for 'eager reader energy' (it really works!), and I hope this chapter makes the wait worth it. :)
Woodscolt215, I love your energy and have really take to heart your perception of my writing ("sometimes more than one middle" might have to be my motto from now on!). Thank you for sharing that. :)
Enjoy!
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Veronica sneaked one more peek out her bedroom door. "They're still planning world domination together. We can talk."
Betty raised an eyebrow. "What kind of world domination?"
"My mother has some weird highschool grudge that Alice is taking it upon herself to keep alive. I think." Veronica stopped, made a vague gesture with one hand, and then decided to rephrase: "Okay, I think Alice actually just stumbled into some dynamics that are eerily similar to ones my mother ran into during highschool. So there might be a lot of different motives involved in whatever they're discussing."
"Intergenerational... bullying?" Betty wasn't sure what else it could be besides bullying. That was something Riverdale High certainly had its share of on campus. "Only it's not that one generation is bullying another, so maybe… hereditary bullying?"
Veronica stared at her, a stricken expression on her face.
"I-I just mean that it happened in our parents' generation and now-," Betty tried to smooth over the moment. "Not that, like, Alice is the new generation of Lodges or anything like that."
Veronica made a visible effort to relax her shoulders, though it did nothing to loosen her facial expression for a few tense moments. "I know. They just have a lot in common since… Sweet Pea. And all of the stuff with Alice's parents."
Betty did not point out that those were not exactly pleasant things to have in common with Hermione: so far it looked like angst and Serpent drama was a potent force bringing Alice and Hermione together.
Veronica was glad that Betty did not go there, since it almost made it worse: Veronica was only too aware that she was jealous that Alice had someone she could go to for advice on topics that were legitimately messy and complicated. And that did make it worse – made Veronica even more jealous –, because the bonding between her mother and Alice was commensurately more intense as a result of the stakes being so high.
And maybe that was why Betty hadn't brought it up, Veronica reflected. She was a good friend.
But then again, it might also be self-preservation keeping Betty from pointing out how serious and complicated Alice's life had become (quite the feat, considering she'd started in a disastrously complex place when she'd met Sweet Pea) since, after all, Jughead had done nothing but complicate Betty's life. She wouldn't want to throw stones from a glass house.
Okay. That was mean. And unfair. And the kind of stone that would bring down Veronica's own glass house if she thought about it for any length of time.
"I'm… having a hard time with Alice," Veronica admitted, hoping that encompassed everything and conveyed a tacit apology for her unspoken criticism of Betty's relationship with Jughead.
"It would be weird if you weren't." Betty's expression was so earnest that it seemed like she understood everything and did not just forgive Veronica, but went even further: it seemed like Betty understood and validated Veronica's feelings as being completely normal, and neither aggravating nor offensive.
Or maybe Veronica was a victim of profoundly wishful thinking.
Regardless, after a brief silence, they both seemed to have the same impulse at the same time: they unlocked their phones and pulled up the texts that had brought them here.
It was time to get down to business.
And let the record show that the texts in question were not from Betty's boyfriend; Veronica's glass house was looking more fragile by the second.
They compared texts.
"So Archie wanted us to get together, and it looks like he gave us each slightly different information." Betty's voice slipped into full-on detective mode. "It has something to do with Jughead's mother, Alice, Sweet Pea… and Gunnar."
"And the FBI, but that could be about Jughead's involvement. Or it might just be Archie getting a little too excited." Veronica frowned. "This all sounds very Southside-centered, though."
"Hang on." Betty was staring at her phone, but she'd moved out of her texts. "I have a new E-mail from Jug. And he did... something."
Betty's forehead scrunched as she studied the E-mail. "Oh. Huh."
"Did Jughead do something to precipitate Archie's texts? Is that what this is all about?" Veronica guessed. She ordered herself sternly not to feel hopeful that that was the case. This was not a competition.
"I am… not sure." Betty spoke slowly as she stared at the brief message. "Bu-ut I think there might be a whole lot more going on than we realized. In the Southside, I mean."
"Well, yeah. That's a given," Veronica replied. That would not be news. They'd already been operating on the assumption that many unknown plots were unfurling in the Southside.
"Maybe more than we thought, though. Jughead thinks we might be headed for some kind of serious danger." Betty shrugged expansively, clearly anticipating the questions that bubbled up in Veronica. "No explanation, no details, and it's not really a warning to steer clear. It's like he thinks we're already in the middle of something dangerous that we don't understand. He says to be careful."
Veronica frowned thoughtfully. "Well, if Archie is saying we need to investigate and Jughead is saying we need to steer clear of things, then I say we need to find a tiebreaker vote before we do anything."
"But not from a Serpent. Jughead made that much clear." Betty wrinkled her nose as she reread the E-mail yet again. "So I guess FP is out, and Jughead asked me not to mention anything to Brand either. I don't know who else we could ask, though."
"Archie mentioned Gunnar. He's not a Serpent." Veronica lifted one shoulder almost apologetically. Then her expression sharpened. "In fact, things are strange with Alice and Sweet Pea, and I'd guarantee Gunnar has been paying more attention to that than anyone."
Betty nodded, biting her lip. "Good point. And even if he doesn't know anything about Archie's texts, I'd like to hear what he has to say about all of this. It might fill in some of the gaps. He's in the Southside, and he's not impartial, but I think we have a bead on what his biases are."
Veronica sometimes envied Betty's ability to actually regard a situation – a human being – and even entertain the notion that she could possibly have a read on the complex network comprising their biases. Veronica herself was pretty sure that the only predictable factor in this mess was its ability to descend into utter chaos with even one person in the mix getting angry, drunk, or high enough to act against their own interests.
Or noble enough to act against their own interests, for that matter.
That last thought gave her pause. "Where is Jughead, anyway? Did he say what he's doing or when he'll be home?"
"Nope." Betty gave Veronica a resigned smile. "It was pretty cryptic. As usual."
Hm. If anyone was a wild card in the Southside, Jughead would be it.
It might be worth their while to make any plan take a circuitous route in order to avoid coming anywhere near him, or it might all blow up spectacularly.
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"Why is the department of social services blowing up your phone?"
"They're not."
"Yes they are; I saw your phone before you silenced it for the billionth time."
"You know their number?"
"I know what it means when caller ID says 'DSS.'"
"Fair enough." Tom rubbed the bridge of his nose before continuing. "Well, it's probably nothing as far as I'm concerned. That's why I'm not answering; I told them this already. It's not my jurisdiction and I really can't help them for another day or two. And even then, I may not be able to help as much as they're hoping I will."
Sheriff Keller tried very hard to be honest with Kevin while still maintaining confidentiality and appropriate boundaries. This was not the first time that his phone's caller ID had made that more of a challenge than it should have been.
It was also very difficult because they were staying with Tim, Finn, and Roger. The close quarters served to rub Kevin's nose in details that Tom needed the teen not to put together meaningfully.
It was for his protection, first and foremost, but also in order to preserve the privacy of… a lot of people.
Too many people.
Keller sighed when his pocket began vibrating again. They probably knew they had his attention, too; it wasn't like he could turn his phone off. Screening calls was the best he could do. Disconnecting from the outside world would be a major problem in so many ways that it wasn't worth counting them.
Maybe Tim would have some useful insights, though. He was law enforcement.
It would also get Tom away from Kevin. His son was curious and observant, so getting a wall or two between him and his father's phone was probably a smart move.
"Stay here," Keller directed his son. "Try to get some sleep; neither of us got much last night, thanks to Finn. I'll be back in a little while, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't listen in."
Tom didn't insult Kevin by assuming that he was anything less than completely capable of successfully eavesdropping.
When Kevin sighed deeply, Tom figured that meant he'd honor his father's request – though the teen was not happy about it.
"It's not any easier to be read in," Sheriff Keller offered as he got out of bed and pulled his shirt on. "Just for the record."
"Really? Because it's torture not knowing," Kevin retorted. "Just for the record."
"Ah, but it's an adventurous and suspenseful kind of torture where the outcome could be anything," Tom responded with a faint smile. "There might be magic."
"Yeah. Magic. Okay, Dad." Kevin's tone was so dismissive that he might as well have said 'I'm not three years old.'
"I'm just saying that once you know the details, you know them forever. And after that there's no more possibility of a happy ending."
A few beats of silence hung heavily in the dark room.
"And on that cheery note…" Kevin's words were calculated to downplay the seriousness of the moment, but he sounded rattled.
"But like I said. There might be magic." Tom tried to infuse his words with sincerity; he really did hope that Kevin could get some sleep.
One of them ought to.
"Is… is that how you feel about Joaquin?" Kevin's voice followed Tom out the bedroom door, stopping him in his tracks.
"What?"
"You're getting to know Joaquin, but not every detail… so yeah. Do you see the possibility of a happy ending? Do you see magic when you're not sure what's going to happen with him and me?" Kevin's tone turned gruffer as he spoke with emotion. "I mean, it's not that I'm not grateful for everything you've done. Moving into the hotel with us was huge, and-,"
Kevin broke off, and Tom imagined that he was regretting bringing up the topic after even the most cursory reflection on everything that his father had done to facilitate his relationship with Joaquin DeSantos.
And he took pity on his boy.
"I try to, Kevin. I'm not always successful, but I promise you: I do try."
Kevin nodded. Tom wasn't sure, but he might have sniffled as well.
And if that indicated anything at all about the state of the teens' relationship then, concerning as the hint might be, Tom resolved silently to wait for Kevin to share the details.
Mutual respect, the taxing demands they were having to make of each other at the moment, and also just basic decency seemed to require that much of Tom.
And when Kevin let him leave without further comment, it looked like they were both resolved to give one another the benefit of the doubt along with the time and space to work out their own respective issues.
It wasn't something to smile about, exactly, but Keller felt an unmistakable swell of pride over the growth they were experiencing in their relationship.
Adulthood was coming fast for Kevin. Tom was increasingly confident that they'd make the transition with their friendship intact.
00000
"He cooks too. And bakes. I've been learning; he's been teaching me."
"Wow. We should have you cook for us," Gladys said warmly. She was rubbing Jughead's back reassuringly; they were sharing a couch in the Airbnb Gladys and Richard had rented, while Richard was leaning back in a recliner across the room. "We can see how well the lessons are going."
Jughead was relaxing in the bliss that a few simple joys could afford: two burgers from Pop's, a new dressing on his wrists, and his mother fussing over him.
It was surreal. Somehow the magic of his mother just being here, saying all the right things, made it seem like everything really would be all right.
It helped that Richard had called the hospital and somehow sweet-talked some rumors out of someone – he'd reported back to Jughead and Gladys that, supposedly, Mr. Andrews had taken a single bullet to one arm and was fine, and Brand had already been discharged with nothing worse than a headache.
Jughead desperately wanted to believe the good report, though he had to consider the possibility that Richard was lying to him or had received misinformation.
Richard had not pushed his luck by asking about Tall Boy, which bothered Jughead a little – perhaps more for his mother's sake than anything, since she'd shot him. She probably wouldn't face charges, under the extreme circumstances, but still. It was going to be more complicated if Tall Boy did not survive.
"So what's FP up to these days?" Richard asked, considerably less warmly. "I mean, I've seen his girlfriend, but he's gotta have more going on. I've had it up to here-," Richard made a slicing motion over his eyes "-with Davies already and I don't have to live with the guy."
Jughead blinked at his stepfather in confusion. "What?"
"Your father has not historically shared his space well with anyone other than the Serpents," Gladys said smoothly, while motioning at Richard to cool it. "Richard's similar, only he doesn't make an exception for Serpents. Or anyone, really. Other than family."
It sounded to Jughead like 'other than family' had been tacked on as an afterthought, and he suddenly wondered if 'anyone, really' was the truth of the matter with Richard.
His stepfather. It sounded weirder the more Jughead thought about it.
"Family," Richard repeated, and this time his tone was warm as well. "That's right. If any interloper came around and tried to teach your mother to cook, well–," Richard laughed heartily. "I might just let them, come to think of it."
Gladys swatted at him, and suddenly they looked like they were married. Like they belonged together.
Like Richard was a stepfather.
Jughead stared at the two of them and felt an unexpected rush of sadness.
"But, you know, just because FP isn't family any more doesn't mean you're not family," Gladys said, seeming to read Jughead's mind – perhaps even more easily than he could read his own. "And in some ways your father and I will always be connected too, because of you."
Richard's smile froze and his eyes flickered around the room at that, as if he wasn't sure where to look.
Jughead hid a wince; he was clearly making things uncomfortable just by being here. His mother saying all of this had to be hard on Richard, and hard on their new marriage.
"I am glad Davies has become such a good friend to you, but-," Gladys shrugged and shot Richard a sympathetic look, "-he might not be everyone's best friend. And that's okay. I can appreciate that you see a lot in him and get a lot of good out of your friendship, even if I never really get to know him."
That sounded like the right words. There wasn't anything wrong about them, anyway. But something seemed off about the delivery or the phrasing. Or tone. Or something.
And suddenly Jughead couldn't shake the feeling that maybe Brand had not been a random victim in Fred's house.
Except that would mean his mother had intended to hurt his godfather. That wasn't possible. Not unless someone was literally threatening her or someone she cared about.
Jughead tried not to glance at Richard as that thought occurred to him. It didn't make sense, anyway – Richard wouldn't have married his mother if he was blackmailing her or whatever. He'd just blackmail her.
But that didn't mean everything was as it seemed in their relationship, Jughead thought.
Gladys was watching him closely, her eyes sharp.
Trigger lumbered to his feet uneasily.
Jughead forced his shoulders to relax; he smiled as naturally as he could. "Well, he's got a pretty hard head. I'm sure you'll get to meet him in no time, and then we'll just have to see whether he wins you over."
Gladys seemed to relax when she saw that Jughead was smiling and joking about the situation.
Richard's eyes skittered away a second time, as if he didn't like what he was hearing – and didn't want Jughead to realize that.
Trigger edged closer to Jughead.
Jughead's skin crawled with the eerie feeling that he'd somehow sidestepped a landmine that he had not known was there.
One whose location he was not one hundred percent certain about.
But one that he was abruptly, completely sure existed. There was no doubt in his mind that it was deadly – and was waiting for him to make just one wrong step.
And it seemed to be more to do with Richard than with Gladys. Jughead frowned as the thought seemed to take root: what if his mother was being coerced? What if Richard wasn't treating her right, or maybe had even married her under false pretenses for some sort of self-serving reason?
Maybe Jughead's mother was still in a honeymoon stage that would abruptly turn into a nightmare. He shuddered at the thought.
Trigger's cold nose slipped into Jughead's left hand, a subtle alert that Jughead had taught him so that the dog would not broadcast his anxiety far and wide when a situation did not warrant that. Clearly, Jughead was not the only one picking up on the tension in the room.
Leaning over to pat Trigger, Jughead drew strength from the simple gesture and was able to smile more sincerely. "You know what? This guy's barely housebroken and I'm working on the basics of training him. Mind if I take him outside before we have an accident? If you have a bag, I can–"
Gladys nodded, moving swiftly under the threat of an accident in the relatively close quarters of their Airbnb.
Richard lifted an eyebrow as he peered down his nose at Trigger. "Not fully housebroken? He seems a little old for that."
"I haven't had him long," Jughead replied evenly. "We're working on it."
If there was one hidden landmine in the house that Jughead had no control over, he might as well make it two – hiding Trigger's capabilities for as long as possible – just in case he needed to fight fire with fire.
Because if Richard thought Jughead was going to sit back and let anyone mistreat his mother in any way, he had another thing coming.
"Well, chop chop." Richard motioned for Jughead to hurry. "We don't need any more accidents."
When they locked eyes behind Gladys' back, Jughead saw a clear challenge – almost a taunt – in Richard's expression. His phrasing instantly took on a new significance, particularly with 'more accidents' clearly referring to Brand being taken out violently, from behind.
A statistic popped into Jughead's mind, though he wasn't sure where he'd read it or if he was even remembering it correctly: abuse of minors was something like thirty times more likely with a non-biologically-related male father figure in the home.
Brand was either living proof or the exception that proved the rule, Jughead couldn't stop himself from thinking darkly.
And, in any case, Jughead figured that it didn't really matter. He and Richard were in agreement on this point at least: they most certainly did not need any more 'accidents.' Particularly not if any were likely to befall his mother.
Until Jughead regained some strength, or developed some other sort of advantage, there was very little he could do to defend himself or his mother from anything Richard might try.
"Are there any more burgers?" Jughead asked. The doctor had said he should eat until he could get more medical treatment. This would have to pass for "a plan" until he could make a real one.
"Yeah." Richard tossed him another hefty burger from their Pop's order. "Eat up; I doubt these reheat well."
"Thanks." As he bit into the burger, Jughead felt his breathing settle into the measured pattern that he recognized from training.
It was time to do everything he could to get back into fighting shape. Hopefully he would have at least some success before he was called on to fight.
If his mother needed him, he would be ready.
"You mentioned a doctor," Gladys said suddenly. "I might be able to track him down. He was willing to make house calls in Sunnyside; that narrows it down."
"Really?" Jughead perked up; this was unexpected and welcome. "You think so?"
"We'll get you to see him as soon as he's got an opening," Gladys promised. "FP might not be prioritizing your health, but that's going to change now that I'm around."
"He and Brand have been trying to get me to specialists," Jughead defended FP, but there was no heat in his voice.
"We should also talk about that tour you're going on with Archie," Gladys continued. "Richard has a friend who owes him a favor, and I think we're going to be able to get you some writing experience. I don't want to say too much, just in case it doesn't happen, but it could be a great opportunity for you."
"Wow, really? That would be great. I've been thinking I shouldn't go on the tour at all. It's not like they need me there. But if I could do some coverage or something, even just anonymously for an established blog or something, I'd feel like I was actually earning my keep."
"What do you mean? You have to go. And you're too talented for a blog," Gladys scoffed. "Just wait. Let me see what I can arrange so that the tour is worthwhile for you."
Jughead smiled and took another bite of his burger. He still felt the need to be ready to throw himself between Richard and his mother, but that warm glow feeling was back, and it was intense.
He had really missed having a mom.
00000
Archie finished showering in his father's hospital room and put on the clothing Agent Sarah had brought for him. As arrangements went, staying in someone else's hospital room wasn't ideal, but going home to "the crime scene" was not an option – and his mother hadn't arrived yet due to delays with her flight, so they didn't have a hotel or anything yet.
Archie dried his hair more roughly than he needed to; the bracing feeling that it might knock some sort of order into his mind was appealing, and the visual of washing the situation 'right out of his hair' got a whole string of songs stuck in his head.
His mind was desperate for distraction, since dwelling on so many things that just didn't make sense was driving him crazy.
None of this should have happened. None of it was fair, and none of it even seemed to serve a purpose – not for Tall Boy, not for Gladys, not for anyone.
And Archie was pretty sure that multiple people were lying to him, perhaps including his own father, since the facts did not add up.
First, it was an incredibly bizarre cast of characters who had been in Archie's house when his father had been shot.
Second, by all accounts Sarah Quinn had witnessed Jughead's mother shooting Tall Boy and hitting Brand hard enough that he still hadn't woken up.
Leaving aside the obvious – that Gladys had never done anything like that in all the years Archie had known her – why would it then be in any way cool that Jughead had left with her? And wasn't Jughead, like, in the middle of some sort of hostage situation involving Tall Boy and Archie's dad when all of this had happened?
And where was Tall Boy, anyway? Archie hadn't been able to get a straight answer from anyone about that.
Nothing was the way it should be. Bizarre as it felt to even think it, Archie felt like he had a pretty good idea of how things "normally" went after a violent altercation that ended with Jughead missing and those left behind injured – or even dead.
He'd received a promising text from Veronica, though. She and Betty were looking into things. And there wasn't anyone else Archie trusted at this point to find out the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
Ten to one, whatever the FBI had been doing at Jughead's mom's house was the real issue and explained the actual motives behind the bizarre tack that everyone at the hospital seemed to be taking.
Maybe FP was being held hostage by the FBI, and they were forcing him to let them use Jughead as bait. That would make more sense than the story Archie had been given, that FP was 'respecting Jughead's time with his mother.' Nuh-uh. Not after what had just gone down. And if Jughead knew that Fred was lying in a hospital bed, recovering from surgery after being shot, he would not have simply taken off like that.
Archie hoped not, anyway. And if Jughead had seen Brand get attacked and hurt, Archie was pretty sure that alone would have meant he wouldn't have left with Gladys.
So maybe Brand hadn't been hit from behind, like the nurses were saying. Maybe Brand was actually being drugged to prevent him from going after Jughead, since he was not containable by the FBI for obvious reasons; being FBI himself, he'd know all of their strategies and be able to counter them.
Maybe Fred had even been shot by an FBI sniper as a ploy to get all of this set in motion.
Ha. Archie had to smile at his own paranoid fantasies. Things might be out of control, but even he couldn't muster up credulity for his own ideas, so they must be way off base.
Something might still be going on, though. Archie was sure Agent Sarah could not be involved in any of this, but that new SAC Wilson was around an awful lot.
He'd keep an eye on her and see if he could find anything out. That was as good a place to start as any.
00000
FP awoke with a jerk. He was still in a hard plastic chair in the conference room that Wilson had secured. And holy smokes, he was sore.
"You ever gonna walk again?" Wilson was leaning into the room, which no doubt explained why he'd woken up.
And apparently his sleeping position looked as crippling as it had been. Good to know.
"Not sure yet," FP groaned as he straightened his spine experimentally. He could move, even though it was slow going. "Eh, it's not that bad. Give me five minutes; I should be fine. Have you heard from Jug?"
"Not directly."
That had FP sitting straight up. "What have you heard?"
"A physician came to us two days ago with a strange report of human trafficking in Sunnyside Trailer Park."
FP's jaw dropped.
"That was our reaction," Wilson said with a wry smile. "The description matched Jughead's, and we've been-,"
"What?" FP heard himself thundering the word before he realized that was the opposite of what he should be doing right now. He lowered his voice. "Go on. We'll talk later about why you didn't see fit to tell me about that right when it happened."
"Of course." Wilson looked completely unsurprised by FP's reaction to learning that he had not been told this information. "The doctor just updated us that he was asked to run some tests on bloodwork for the same teenager, even though he didn't get a chance to see him or examine him."
"And?" FP was sure he had not missed something, and that couldn't be the whole story.
"That's all. We now know that Jughead was brought to a medical facility for a blood draw and, presumably, eventual treatment. The doctor no longer believes him to be a trafficked teenager, and it sounds like Gladys is trying to take decent care of him. It's good news, FP." Wilson looked confused now. "We have confirmation that they have not left the area, and that they're making sure Jughead is healthy."
"Where is Jughead now?"
"He left with his mother. Nothing has changed on that front; we still don't want anyone tainting the case we're building against Banks, so we think the best course of action is to wait for Jughead to strike out on his own before we make a move – or for Gladys to bring him home herself."
That figured. Right down to the deflecting use of the word "we" whenever Aaditi mentioned decisions being made.
Only now Gladys was playing the part of a doting mother, so who knew how long it might be before she brought Jughead home of her own volition.
"Well, what tests did this doctor run? Did he say if he has a diagnosis?" FP was increasingly agitated. This doctor might hold the key to whatever Jughead had been thinking when he'd thrown himself between Tall Boy and Fred Andrews.
"Jughead is seventeen, so his medical records-,"
"You're the FBI," FP countered flatly.
"It's still outside our purview. We can't access them without a clear reason directly related to the outcome of a case."
FP's eyes narrowed. "You don't think the outcome of the case will be affected if I decide the risks are too high and go get my son?"
"Mr. Jones, that had better not be a threat." Wilson's tone sounded murderous, but there was a hint of amusement in her eyes.
That could have been insulting, but somehow FP was pretty sure it meant that she understood him - not that she underestimated him.
And then something else occurred to FP that changed the game completely.
"Wait a second. Brandon has ungodly amounts of access to Jughead's records. There's no way he'd be barred from reading them."
"Davies is still unconscious." Wilson looked pained at the reminder of Brandon's condition.
"I'm essentially his next of kin."
"I know you are, but Jughead is still too old for you to have automatic access to-,"
"Davies' next of kin, I mean."
Wilson frowned severely. "What do you mean, 'essentially'? And regardless, that is not how access to medical records works."
"I need to take a walk. Clear my head." FP got up and was pulling his cellphone out of his pocket before the door closed behind him.
Sometimes Aaditi got a little too hung up on whether or not the rules allowed something and lost the plot on a good angle that might be able to open a door that was far less secure than anything the FBI oversaw. FP was pretty sure he had enough of a plan and enough of a story that he could get what he wanted from a bored just-above-minimum-wage-earning employee.
It would just take some fast talking, that's all.
Simple.
And it was something he could actually do right now, even with his neck feeling like it had been sawed in half and only partially stitched back together.
FP rubbed the back of his neck absently as he Googled information on his phone. He'd need to have some details straight before he made the phone call. And he wanted to be done with all of this before Wilson decided to make a serious attempt to stop him.
"FP?" Aaditi's voice interrupted his typing.
Dang it.
"What?" FP tried not to sound perturbed by the interruption. He didn't need her ordering him not to investigate his own son's health.
"Have you thought about what you'll do once the investgation in the Southside is wrapped up and you're no longer working with the FBI as an asset?" Wilson sounded almost amused. So maybe she wasn't about to try and stop FP.
But her question was not one that inspired happy reflections.
"No." FP sounded curt. He tried to soften that: "There aren't a lot of options for someone at my age, with my experience. But as long as Andrews Construction will have me..."
"That's honest work," Aaditi said. It could have been a full sentence, but it was clear that she had more to say. "But I have a few other ideas that might be a good fit too. Let me know if you ever want to hear them."
Huh.
"Okay." FP waved in what he hoped was a friendly-but-dismissive manner. He needed to get on the phone.
And Wilson smiled, waved back, and then walked away.
Perfect. FP got back to work.
00000
Alice and Veronica stood uncomfortably on the doorstep of Gunnar's house, trying to explain themselves in a way that would make more sense.
Or at least get Gunnar's dad to let them into the house to talk to his son.
Only he was like a surly warden, barking questions and making them clarify until they'd basically told him just about everything they'd come here to discuss with Gunnar.
"We don't really have anything else. That's literally everything." Betty shrugged helplessly. "But maybe Gunnar-,"
"Fine. You can come in."
Veronica and Betty exchanged shocked looks before they scurried into the house – before Mr. Helgason could change his mind.
"Nobody leaves here until you hear from me," Gunnar's father ordered. Gunnar was coming down a set of stairs and he froze when he heard that and saw the two teenagers in his living room.
"Dad, what's going on?"
"Nobody leaves until I call," Mr. Helgason repeated. "Is that clear?"
All three nodded their assent.
"Good." The door closed behind him with a sharp bang.
There was a moment of silence as they all absorbed what had just happened.
Then Gunnar gave a low groan of frustration. "What did you say to my dad, and why is he heading out the door loaded for bear?"
Betty felt her mouth fall open. "What?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, did you think he was going to the library?" Gunnar scoffed. "Does FP know that you two came here to start another war in the Southside?"
"Hold on. We didn't say a thing about FP Jones and we are not here to start anything," Veronica corrected, holding up a hand. "In fact, we don't even know what's going on, so-,"
"You may not know. But my dad definitely knows something and it is not good." Gunnar rubbed his eyes wearily. "If it wasn't about FP, then what are you here about?"
"Gladys." Betty felt foolish as she spoke. Gladys was so closely associated with FP that it probably didn't matter that they hadn't mentioned the man directly.
"Oh. Huh." Gunnar frowned. "That might change things. What do you two know about Gladys?"
Ah. So maybe Gladys was different from FP in this context after all.
"Archie texted us," Veronica began to explain. "So-,"
"Oh." This time Gunnar's eyes lit with recognition as he interrupted Veronica. "That's why you're here. Well, that probably explains where my dad's heading, then. He was waiting for literally any information that would give him a direction to jump."
Betty and Veronica exchanged confused glances.
"It's a long story. I'll explain later," Gunnar offered in response to their reactions.
"But you think he's heading to see Gladys?" Betty didn't think that would end well.
"No. I'm guessing he's going straight to the source." Gunnar grimaced. "There's this kid. Finn. Dead mom, dad in jail, so he's been living with a cop – and the Serpents have been livid over it and all riled about the government messing with Southside kids. Then just a few hours ago an anonymous dump of information got a ton of homes raided. A whole bunch of minors got put in the system today. It can't be a coincidence."
Betty didn't have a prayer of schooling her expression; she felt her eyes widen with shock. Just one E-mail, written by her but sent to the authorities by Jughead, had done so much so quickly?
"Well, where's your dad going if he isn't planning to see Gladys?" Veronica demanded. She was clearly less thrown than Betty by the information being so public so swiftly.
"He's going after Finn," Gunnar stated, as if it were obvious.
"What? Why?" Betty felt a protective surge for the small boy she'd never met.
"To offer his services as a hired gun. Or as cannon fodder." Gunnar's face twisted with anger. "Sweet Pea said 'our' earth wouldn't be scorched, but I guess he forgot that the Southside belongs to all of us. And as of this afternoon, it is officially on fire."
"Because…?" Betty was afraid of the answer, but she had to know for sure.
"Because that information dump - the raids - just dynamited the freaking Rubicon! Are you even listening to me? Nobody's got the option of staying neutral anymore." Gunnar shook his head in exasperation. "And you know what burns me? Someone's pulling the strings on everyone; somebody sent that information, knowing full well what would happen. And it could have been anyone. Anyone who wanted to see the Southside go to war like it hasn't done in years." Gunnar's tone darkened further. "Not since my uncle was killed."
He leveled Betty with a glare. "And not since your mother ran with the Serpents."
Betty was startled. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't try to distract us. What's going to happen?" Veronica seemed rattled now, too. Good; Betty wasn't alone.
"Suit yourself. But you should really ask your mother about all of that. As far as what's going to happen? The usual: cops'll look the other way. Let us kill each other and count each casualty as 'one fewer bad seed in the Southside.'" Gunnar spoke bitterly. "And eventually it will burn itself out. Probably when everyone's lost enough people that the war itself loses all meaning."
Betty felt ill.
"Only I don't know how many people that is when the war has a bunch of kids being stolen as its rallying cry." Gunnar's mouth twisted in disgust. "You two really ought to go home before things start."
That sounded like a good idea. Only…
"Your dad said-," Betty began, but Veronica interrupted her.
"We're going." She nudged Betty toward the front door. "I've got to talk to my mother. And, uh, maybe you should talk to your mother as well, Betty."
"Talk to Alice, too," Gunnar suggested. "She was here looking for information, and what with Sweet Pea and all, I wouldn't put it past her to try something. She should stay on the Northside and keep her nose out of things."
"Don't worry. She won't let Sweet Pea drag her into anything," Veronica said with assurance.
Gunnar looked as though he was unconvinced. "Well, just make sure. No interviewing him for the paper or anything."
"Why do you think Alice might interview him?" Betty asked uneasily. There seemed to be more to the story.
"Wow. You two really don't know what all of this means." Gunnar looked dumbfounded. "The first raid that happened? They picked up Sweet Pea."
Oh. That might do it.
Betty and Veronica exchanged just one worried look before they bolted.
Hopefully they'd get to their friends and family before the news did.
00000
"You're fine! Completely healthy," Gladys crowed from behind her laptop at the table, where she was eating breakfast. "All the tests came back normal. This is great news!"
Jughead was standing over the toaster, waiting for his english muffin to pop up. "What? Are you sure?"
"You think she can't read a simple test result?" Richard raised an eyebrow.
"No. I just-," Jughead felt all of the weight of his worry crashing down on him again. It should not have felt worse having had the time away from worrying, and having hope that this doctor was somehow different, but... it did. It felt worse. "Is there a note?"
"The test results just came through. The doctor probably hasn't even seen them yet," Gladys said. She closed the laptop firmly. "But that means you're cured. It's great news!"
Jughead smiled weakly. Contradicting his mother seemed like more than he could manage while being rocked by the disappointing news that he did not have a diagnosis after all.
He stared longingly at the laptop for a few moments, but reminded himself that granting his mother access to his medical records did not mean that he couldn't access them. He just needed a device that would allow him to get online. Surely he'd manage that before long.
"Glad to hear it. Good for you, kid. Gladys, I'll be gone for most of today," Richard declared. "Some of us still work for a living. You two have fun together."
Gladys smiled affectionately. "We will. I'll be getting a job soon enough and then the fun will all be over for me, so I'm planning to live it up in the meantime. It's taking a while to hear on my applications, don't you think? But it should be any day now."
"Speaking of which... What day is it?" Jughead asked, an idea occurring to him; he motioned for his mother to hand him her phone. "What's today's date?"
Gladys slid her phone over to him, and Jughead hid his grin. He would be able to use it to access the internet.
Then he actually saw the date.
Oh.
Well, it was probably stupid to even consider.
But it was today.
And he had a little time to figure out how to get there, since Clark would obviously not be available to help him get there like they'd arranged.
It would be nice to accomplish just one thing on his own, and to have something - anything - to show for this disastrous Thanksgiving break.
Jughead looked from Gladys to Richard, feeling furtive.
"Um, I need to go get something," Jughead said and got up to leave. The door from the kitchen led outside to a set of steps that would take him to the yard, and on to the road. He could get some privacy.
"Get what?" Richard asked, suddenly imposing. He stepped to block Jughead's exit.
Trigger leapt up and snaked his body between their legs, providing both a modicum of protection - and the perfect inspiration.
"I need to get Trigger's leash. He needs a walk," Jughead said quickly, snatching the leash from where it lay beside the door. Thank heavens his brain was firing on all cylinders again and he had a story that made sense.
"Is that all?" Richard leaned his face in uncomfortably close to Jughead.
"Yeah. That's all." Jughead nudged Richard back a step, shooting his mother a look that said 'seriously?' before he turned to leave.
Then a hand grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and shoved his chest hard. "What about your mother's phone? You gonna walk right out of here with that in your pocket, like some kind of thief?"
Gladys let out a cry of protest. Trigger's explosion of barks was deafening.
Jughead simply reacted. As he felt himself rebound off the doorway, he grabbed the doorknob to open the door and provide an escape from the Airbnb. Only that proved to be a mistake: it was almost in slow motion that Jughead felt himself lose his balance - he could not be sure if he'd been pushed, or if Trigger had knocked him off balance, but something had gone terribly wrong - and then he was falling.
"Jughead!" Gladys yelled his name.
Jughead blinked up at her. Gladys was coming down the steep set of wooden stairs, though she had to stop when Trigger forced his body past her so he could reach Jughead first.
Jughead was staring up at Gladys from the bottom of the stairs, and then his eyes went past her, to Richard.
Something was firing every panic response in his body. Jughead's chest was tight and his breathing, coming in ragged gasps, was doing everything Jughead had been trained to avoid.
"Are you okay? Did you hit your face?" Gladys reached Jughead and pushed Trigger back from licking him before she began fussing over him.
"No. I, uh-," A stabbing pain raced through his chest. "I think I hit my... sternum?"
"Does anything feel broken?" Gladys was sitting back on her heels now, examining Jughead with a critical eye.
"He's fine. Take your phone and let him take his walk." Richard motioned impatiently. "Gotta toughen 'em up sometime."
Jughead wanted to roll his eyes, but he also wanted to take that walk - preferably with the cellphone in his possession.
"I'm fine, Mom, really." Jughead wheezed as he sucked in as much air as he could. "Trigger still needs a walk, and I just need to... catch my breath. It was just a stupid accident."
"The phone?" Richard prompted again.
"Take the phone with you, Jughead. It would make me feel better if you had it, in case you start feeling weak or sick or something," Gladys said, shooting Richard a look. "And would you please consider calling your father?"
Ah. The agenda again. Jughead should have thought of using that ploy in the first place.
"Yeah, Mom. I'll think about it." He would not, but his words made Gladys smile. Success.
Jughead pocketed the phone and clipped the leash onto Trigger.
And then he pulled out the phone and checked the time once more.
He could definitely still make it. This might even be the best chance he'd get. Jughead could text Richard something to explain his absence, and he'd be back in just a few hours.
And, as Brand had shown Jughead over and over again, it was often easier to beg forgiveness than to ask for permission.
00000
Clark sat next to Brandon's bedside, trying to appear to be waiting patiently even as his mind raced.
It was difficult not to kick himself and relive on loop some of the most mortifying moments of his professional life. This had not been an easy twenty-four hours.
Thirty-six hours... forty-eight hours.
Whatever.
But reliving the embarrassment would be a distraction from very real problems that deserved his undivided attention.
Jughead had gone with Gladys Banks. Was he safe? Where was he now? Had he taken Trigger, who had been missing since Agent Quinn had last seen the dog entering Fred Andrews' home?
Clark was pretty sure Jughead had Trigger; the dog was like the strongest of magnets when he had the chance to be close to his master. Even the gunshots would not have sent him far from Jughead.
Everyone seemed to assume that Jughead had gone willingly with Gladys and would be returned to FP in just a few days.
Clark didn't presume to know better, and the track record of his instincts when it came to the wolf pack was starting to seem abysmal, but he had a sinking feeling about the bet that Davies and FP had described to him.
It just seemed like the kind of thing that could muck things up with Jones.
They'd only shared a desk for a few weeks, but Clark could come up with several examples of times when Jughead had tried a little too earnestly to complete a task long after he should have known to give it up.
And something about that description seemed to unlock a memory – almost. It was like a word being on the tip of his tongue, but the more Clark tried to concentrate on it, the more it seemed like he was trying to invent a memory rather than retrieve one.
Oy. This was maddening.
"You look the way I feel," a low voice rasped.
"Special Agent Davies?" Clark snapped to attention. "You're awake! I'll get-,"
"Where's Jones?" Brand reached a shaky hand toward Clark as if to stop him. "Is he home? Is he here?"
"He left with Gladys after you-," Clark waved his hands vaguely, not sure if he was supposed to be discussing injuries with Davies without a physician present – and before his formal debriefing took place. "But we haven't heard anything from him since then. It's been a full day. I mean, it's been two days if you want to count yesterday and today separately."
"Two days? What does FP say about that? And what the hell happened to me that I can't remember a whole day?" Davies started struggling into a seated position.
"Whoa. You've got a lot of injuries, so maybe don't move until someone explains everything to you." Clark pressed a hand to Brand's chest, and thankfully the older man stopped trying to sit up.
"You don't know? Huh." Brand frowned. "Has FP said anything about Jones being gone for this long? Is this how the plan was supposed to go, or is he losing his mind?"
Clark tried to come up with a response. At least Davies had conveniently taken Clark's words to mean that he didn't know what had happened. That was probably for the best, at least for the moment.
"FP's…" Clark needed a more dignified phrase than 'climbing the walls,' but nothing came to mind.
"That bad, huh?" Brand's frown deepened. "Can you get him here?"
"Oh. He's already here." Clark blinked. "He hasn't left the hospital unless he had to; he's mostly been working from here."
Davies made a pained face as if remembering something deeply unpleasant, and he looked up more alertly. "Of course FP's here. Fred Andrews was shot. Does that mean… did he survive?"
"Oh! Yes! Fred's here and he's alive. He needed surgery; he'll need physical therapy." Clark tried to say this reassuringly, even though the man was not out of the woods yet.
"Good. Thank god. Okay; FP's with him. That makes sense." Davies looked satisfied. "If he can get away, I'd really like to-,"
"You're awake." FP's voice interrupted their conversation. "It's about time. We need to talk."
"He's been in and out of here constantly since you were admitted," Clark explained swiftly, backing up so he was not between the two men. "We've been really worried."
"And there's a new problem. I need you to log into Jug's medical records, since security has apparently gotten tight," FP said, brandishing a laptop as he approached the hospital bed. He looked Davies over critically. "But first, how do you feel? Sarah won't shut up about stroke risk, or clotting risk, or brain damage which is not a risk so much as a sunk cost – and I don't need you having an emergency right now."
"How do I feel? Like I need the full story of what ran me over. Was I out the whole time? I thought Clark meant that something blocked out my memory – not that I was in a freaking coma. And I need Jones here so I can see for myself that he's in one piece," Davies was struggling to sit up once more. "Two days? What have you been doing while I was under? Because I can already tell what you haven't been doing."
FP's jaw dropped.
Then his jaw set.
Before Mr. Jones could say something that Clark was at least thirty percent sure he'd regret, Clark remembered what it was he knew about Jughead.
"Wait. Wait! I might – I mean, maybe we should – hang on, what's today's date?" Clark fumbled for his cell phone while the two men turned to stare at him. "Okay. It's today, yeah. Let me just-,"
It took a few seconds to open his E-mail on his phone and find the confirmation that listed the time.
"I might know where we can find Jughead. Alone. Where he'll be alone for a couple of hours, anyway." Clark looked up and nearly froze when he saw the intensity of the two men's stares. He swallowed hard. "I mean, it's possible, if I'm right, that-,"
"Enough with the hedging. We've got no other way in on this, Clark, unless we're going to defy Wilson's orders. What do you know?" FP seemed to be restraining himself.
Probably from shaking Clark physically.
Clark confessed in a rush: "Jughead asked me to help him, just in case he needed a ride or some help, and I said sure, why not. So we set it up together. The appointment, I mean. It's today, in about two hours. I have the address-,"
"He's with Gladys. He won't be making it to any appointments," Davies said incredulously.
"Hold on. What's the appointment for? Why was it a secret?" FP demanded, holding up a hand to shush Davies.
Maybe this was stupid. But Clark couldn't help thinking of all the times Jughead had insisted on following through on a commitment, even when he shouldn't. And this was something he'd been bound and determined to do on his own – without telling Special Agent Davies or his father. As a surprise, he'd said.
"Taking the SAT." Clark waited tensely for their reactions.
The men looked at each other.
Seconds ticked past in silence.
And then Brand slapped himself on the forehead while FP began slowly nodding.
"I wish I could say there was no way he'd even be thinking about that right now, but this might be our chance to get him alone; we could bring him home without coming anywhere near Gladys or Richard. We've got to go. Just in case." FP motioned at Clark. "You and me. I'm driving. Get that address and text it to me."
"Do me a favor and get to the kid before he sits that test," Brand ordered. He groped around his hospital bed. "Where's my service weapon? You should be carrying, FP."
Clark gaped at Special Agent Davies. "There, uh, probably isn't a gun in your hospital bed. And I'm pretty sure the hospital doesn't allow-,"
"You had better not be thinking about his college applications right now." FP ignored Clark and pointed at Brand in what was somehow an extremely threatening gesture.
"Of course not." Brand glared. "I'm thinking it's gonna be an incident if a parent breaches the security of the test."
That was fair.
"He has a point. In fact, in China-," Clark was cut off by FP grabbing his arm and steering him out of the room.
"No, he does not have a point. I honestly don't care if we have to burn the building down. But let's go. The sooner we're there, the less likely we are to need to do that."
Clark nodded quickly.
He'd thought he had figured out how to tell when FP was serious and when he was bluffing for effect, but apparently he'd been wrong: the man sounded completely serious, and that couldn't be right.
And then FP reached to touch something against his lower back and he grunted with satisfaction.
Ah. So that was where Special Agent Davies' service weapon had ended up.
Clark fixed his eyes straight ahead as they exited the hospital, willing himself to move casually so they would not attract any unnecessary attention.
Because they might be about to commit arson.
00000
A long one, huh? I'm hoping there will be less of a wait before the next chapter. But thank you so, so much for your faithful reading even when it does take a while! I really love hearing your thoughts, and even just a brief "hello, I'm still reading" and that energy is real for me (as for so many writers!). And I'm kinda thinking two more chapters before the end, so we're going from frying pan to fire really quickly. That'll keep me writing, too, since I can't wait to see what happens! :)
I hope you're have a wonderful week!
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