It's a new chapter! Huzzah! And I think there will only be 1-2 chapters more until we're done with this story. :) Yay for bringing things together!
Thank you so, so much for your lovely notes. I read an article about why people in busy stages of life often quit all creative things (writing featured heavily) and it was basically hypothesized that it was because they don't have encouraging people along for the ride. So this time I have a specific thank-you to every reader for encouraging me by showing up, and thereby keeping me writing (and, as a result, saner than I would otherwise be!). You are all paragons of modern article advice! (I've long suspected this, but it was neat to have confirmed!)
LeafGreene01, you may have mentioned that before, but I grin every time I hear it. :-D Chaostastic is also the best word I've heard coined in some time, and I will hold it near and dear from now on. I hope this chapter satisfactorily roils things and moves things forward in equal measure (ahhh, what will Richard do next?), and I will love hearing your thoughts and reflections!
Natureliesbeneath, I concur... Gladys is being awfully nice. My hackles are up too, and I'm eager to see how things play out! I agree about poor FP, too, being far away while Gladys (and Richard) get a ringside seat for information - and just hanging out. I feel for him a great deal. And yay for Brand and FP being right back to normal at a moment's notice! That was a relief to write, since things have been so hard for them through this whole story. They are both having to do things that rub against the grain, and sustain that for an awfully long time. And Betty and Veronica are definitely onto stuff; I am so glad you're enjoying that portion of the plot! I feel for Clark as well, since he's in the position of being helpful (necessary!) and yet feeling like he's misstepping constantly. Having all of the pressure without the tools to feel successful is the worst. But hopefully things will get better soon...!
Enjoy!
-Button
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Jughead used the map on his mother's phone to orient himself, and was shocked to find that the testing center was within reasonable walking distance.
Richard had driven for a while, so he must have been taking a weird route so that Jughead would not be sure where they were.
Things were really weird with Richard and his mother, that was for sure. Jughead felt a pang of worry over leaving his mother alone with Banks that reverberated through his whole body. His heart was racing just from the thought.
But Jughead had his ID, and he was confident that Trigger would behave for the hours he'd spend taking the test. There was a park across the street, so Jughead would be able to turn him loose there with very specific commands.
As long as nobody messed with the dog, everything should be fine.
Only Jughead couldn't help feeling a stab of panic over leaving Trigger. His breath started coming in shorter gasps.
Maybe it was the test that was working him up.
Or it could be residual stress from everything – so many things – that Jughead didn't want to allow himself to think too much about at this moment.
Whatever the cause, his heart rate was way up. His breathing was accelerated. He felt like he was on the brink of a panic attack, even though he was objectively safer now than he had been on any number of occasions over the past week.
Jughead tried to control his breathing, but it was starting to feel like a lost cause.
Great. What a way to discover that he had test-taking anxiety.
00000
"We have to move quickly. We grab him and leave, and if you see Gladys or Richard, you look the other way. We will have our best defense if we can say we did not see either of them at any point." FP was pulling up beside a park that was conveniently located across the street from the testing center that Jughead had registered with. "Normally I would warn you not to startle him, but I don't think he's in any shape to hurt you. And time is of the essence."
Clark was pretty sure that this was the epitome of a plan that was about to go south. FP had become more intense (read: scarier) with every minute that had passed from them leaving Davies' hospital room, and at this point Clark was wondering if he needed to be prepared to violently disarm the older man in order to prevent bloodshed.
His response was meek: "Uh, with all due respect, I am not planning to jump Jones. If he is here, and he realizes we're here to pick him up, then… I think that should suffice."
"No; you do not make a plan of your own five seconds before we begin. You move if I say move," FP ordered him severely, his eyes blazing as if "not planning to jump Jones" qualified as the next best thing to treason. "Are we clear, Harlow?"
His first name. This was not good. Even if Jughead couldn't take Clark down in his current condition, FP outweighed Clark and had been personally trained by Agent Davies. Even with his recent training, Clark had no faith whatsoever that he'd come out intact, let alone be the winner, if they ever scuffled.
Moreover, from the look on FP's face, 'scuffling' would not be the half of it if Clark messed up a rescue attempt.
"Yes sir." Clark ducked his head in acquiescence. Keeping his head down in general was probably his first best defense against whatever happened.
FP maintained eye contact just long enough to make it clear that if Clark were part of the wolf pack, he'd be at the bottom of the hierarchy. Maybe lower.
Clark looked away first. FP grunted with satisfaction.
Only then did they get out of the car.
When they started toward the building, though, Clark started to feel a little better. FP was legitimately terrifying, but they were on the same side – which meant that was actually a huge point in their favor. They were ready for almost any scenario.
Unfortunately, the most likely one was still that they would not see any sign of Jughead.
FP's arm slammed into Clark's chest, stopping him in his tracks.
Looking around swiftly, Clark saw what FP had already spotted: Jughead was crossing the sidewalk in front of them, less than a city block away.
Clark had been right; they had all been right. Jones had decided to take time out of his busy kidnapping – or whatever was happening with him and Gladys and Richard Banks – to take the SAT.
"Finally, something broke our way," FP breathed.
Then, sucking in a sharp breath, FP pulled out Davies' handgun and started moving quickly to intercept the teen.
So much for not startling Jones.
Clark's first instinct was to try something – anything – to stop the man… only then Clark saw what FP had reacted to.
Richard Banks was stepping out of a car parked across the street from the park. He did not look happy.
Oh man, that wasn't all, either – a jogging figure in a gray hooded sweatshirt was moving up behind the teen, clearly on an intercept course. And then another movement caught Clark's eye: there were two joggers in identical sweatshirts converging on Jones, and it looked like each one was carrying a handgun.
This was a setup.
When FP began sprinting toward his son, Clark didn't think twice about following.
"Freeze!"
Well, not until several FBI agents with drawn weapons leapt out of a parked SUV and descended on them, that is.
Clark had his ID out in a flash, and his hands raised. Someone snatched his ID and began scrutinizing it with a scowl, while another agent began barking questions at him.
FP, on the other hand, did not break stride. He lunged past the surprised agents, and it looked as though Mr. Jones was drawing down on the joggers – only it didn't look like he'd get there in time.
Two FBI personnel took off after FP, which seemed about right, but it didn't look like they'd be in time either.
And oh, man, Clark really didn't want to see FP gunning people down in a public park. This was – improbably – shaping up to be a whole lot worse than arson.
"Don't shoot!" Clark yelled, only realizing after the fact that his words could be applied to FP, the agents pursuing him, or the armed joggers. Maybe even to Richard Banks as well.
This was not good.
The FBI agents surrounding Clark began berating and questioning him even more loudly, and one grabbed his left arm roughly. Clark did not resist or respond, opting instead to hold his breath and keep his eyes trained on the unfolding train wreck.
Jughead looked up at the shout, and it was obvious when he realized that two people were converging on him – and in that moment his dog must have made the same calculation, because Trigger seemed to flatten his body while leaping into a defensive position.
"Don't hurt the dog!" One of the joggers threw back her hood. "He's a nightmare, but he's earned that much."
And, like magic, Richard Banks stopped in his tracks.
"Is that… Agent Williams?" Clark asked the man who was now loudly trying to interrogate him.
Unsurprisingly, nobody stopped yelling at him long enough to fill him in.
Richard was now moving swiftly back toward his vehicle, and FP's reaction seemed to confirm what Clark thought he was seeing: FP slowed to a jog, jamming the gun back into his waistband as he covered the last several yards between him and his son.
And then, inexplicably, Jughead looked from the not-joggers to his father, and lowered himself to the ground beside Trigger. The dog seemed to be calming down quickly, which was good. But Jughead was beginning to slump, and even from a distance his breathing looked distressed.
Williams started waving energetically to the FBI personnel who were detaining Clark.
"We need an ambulance!"
00000
Jughead was gasping for breath. His panic attack just kept coming. His father was gripping his left hand tightly and had an arm draped over his shoulders. FP was counting slowly as he tried to encourage Jughead to breathe with him.
It was all but impossible.
"Get Banks," FP snapped up at the slowly growing crowd standing over them. "Find out what he was doing."
"Banks isn't here," Agent Williams was insisting. "And nobody's going to look for him; that would cause problems."
"My mother-," Jughead gasped out. "Don't let him hurt-,"
"We're handling it," FP said, squeezing Jughead's hand even more tightly. "Just breathe. And Chloe, if you don't go after him, I will. He was right over there-,"
"FP!" Clark was running over. "Richard left. Not that I saw Richard, I mean, uh-,"
"Williams didn't see him either. Nobody's going after him," FP was suddenly eyeing everyone suspiciously. When he spoke again, he made air quotes with his hands. "Or maybe they 'didn't see him.'"
Clark frowned.
Jughead wheezed as his chest got even tighter. "Mom doesn't know-,"
"Your mother is fine, Jug." FP spoke reassuringly. "She's just fine."
Jughead frowned, but figured there was a whole lot he didn't know about the situation. Maybe Gladys was already away from Richard, somewhere safe. He tried to relax and get a deep breath into his lungs.
"How did you-," Jughead sucked in air before he could continue, "-know I'd be here?"
"I was supposed to be your ride, remember?" Clark said with a grimace that was probably meant to be a smile.
"You're burning up." FP was suddenly holding an ice-cold hand against Jughead's forehead. "Williams, where is that ambulance? Hurry it up."
"There is nothing I can do. They come as fast as they can," Williams snapped, but she crouched down in front of the two men. "Intern, you look like… a sight for sore eyes. What on earth was Clark planning to give you a ride for?"
Huh. Apparently Williams was here for an entirely different reason.
"Were you-," Jughead wheezed again. "Following-,"
FP seemed to react to Jughead's words. Maybe he hadn't put that together yet, but there was no other obvious explanation for why Agent Williams would be here, right now, intercepting Jughead.
"SAC Wilson wanted you back at work as soon as possible. That meant sending out a few people to make sure you got home at the earliest opportunity," Williams said with a small smile. "Your father obviously didn't get the memo. Do you think you can get back into the office by the end of the week?"
Jughead shook his head. "I think… I'll need to work from home. Just for a little while."
FP's arms tightened around him. He must be really worried.
Clark snorted a brief laugh, even though it sounded forced. "Sure. We'll set up a home office for you and Special Agent Davies."
FP swatted Clark's leg.
"Brand's hurt?" Jughead gasped for breath again. His chest was tightening more and more.
"He's fine. You'll see him as soon as you're stable," FP reassured him. "He's waiting for us at the hospital."
It would have been more reassuring if he hadn't been glaring at Clark as he spoke.
"We're not in Riverdale's catchment area," Agent Williams corrected, shaking her head. "We'll be going to Greendale's hospital. You'll see Davies soon, though. We'll work on that."
FP glared at Williams now.
Which made sense. Agent Williams had just given Jughead two worrying pieces of information: Brand could not come right away to meet them, which meant he must be a patient at Riverdale General.
Moreover, if the FBI was planning to 'work on' getting Brand over to see Jughead even though he was injured enough to have been admitted to the hospital, then everyone must be really worried that Jughead was…
Approaching sirens mercifully interrupted his train of thought.
"Hurry it up!" Agent Williams immediately began ordering the paramedics around as they arrived and began to examine Jughead. "He might be having a heart attack."
Oh.
The paramedics were quick, and oxygen was a huge relief even though it did nothing to relieve the increased chest pain. He was moved onto a gurney and FP was right beside him.
Suddenly Jughead remembered Trigger. "My, uh, service dog-,"
Jughead had to stop and gasp for air, which was highly inconvenient. Everyone was exchanging confused looks.
Then FP whistled shrilly and Jughead could hear Trigger's nails scrabble as he leapt into the ambulance. "You heard him. It's his service dog. Highly trained."
"Yes sir," someone said. "We can bring him along."
And then everything moved very quickly.
Jughead felt dizzy as the ambulance began to move. FP placed his hand gently on his forehead.
"You're still burning up, Jug," FP said. "But you're breathing easier. That's real good."
Jughead nodded and then closed his eyes.
"I'm right here." FP gave Trigger a few commands and then spoke to Jughead again. "You can relax. Nobody's going anywhere. Not for a good, long while."
Jughead felt his chest loosen just a bit. It wasn't much, but it was something – and right now that was everything.
00000
"I need a blood draw!" Someone was bellowing from a little too close to Jughead for comfort. "I want blood drawn right now, while he's symptomatic!"
Jughead must have somehow fallen asleep. Or maybe he'd passed out. He felt his hand being crushed by FP's tightening grip, and then he winced at the sound of another bellow – this one from even closer.
"My son needs treatment. Now. They're saying he has an arrhythmia, but for a few minutes we were thinking 'heart attack.' So unless you're a cardiologist, you can just wait your turn for whatever tests you want to run."
They must have just arrived at the hospital.
The doctor gave FP a threatening look. "Sir, trust me: you do not want to delay-,"
Jughead waited for it… and, satisfyingly, the doctor backed down as if on cue. FP's death glare had a pretty solid track record.
And then Jughead got a good look at the doctor. "Hey. It's you. This is your hospital?"
"No. I just work here." The doctor raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by his own joke.
"You were…" Jughead gasped for breath; his heart was still pounding. Arrhythmically, no less, according to someone. "...wrong. About me. Your diagnosis was wrong."
"Maybe." The doctor moved closer, studying Jughead's eyes. "But I don't think so. The blood samples might have gotten mixed up; it's very rare, but I'd believe that before I'd believe I was wrong."
Jughead looked around for Clark, since he was pretty sure that only Clark would fully appreciate the eye-rolling that was necessary in response to that comment. Sadly, Clark was nowhere to be seen. He must still be off somewhere with Agent Williams, who had given him a ride to the hospital.
"What diagnosis?" FP demanded. "Like I said, unless you're a cardiologist, you're not doing a blessed thing to my boy until he's stable and you've explained to me what is going on."
FP's hand left Jughead's shoulder, and when Jughead craned his neck curiously to see what his dad was reaching for, he really wished he had not.
His dad was packing heat in the hospital.
That was a Brand move, so it wasn't like Jughead was completely shocked, but somehow it seemed a lot more dangerous when FP did it.
Trigger was pacing in a tight figure eight pattern just a foot or two away, too, so Jughead was not the only one who was nervous.
"Let's see what the bloodwork shows this time," the doctor demurred blithely. "Then we'll talk."
Wow. This guy must have a death wish.
"Does Brand… know I'm here?" Jughead interrupted whatever his dad was about to say. He was tempted to avoid eye contact as he asked the question, but that might antagonize FP even more. He looked up at his father.
That was why Jughead caught the full effect of his father's expression.
"Wait – what happened? Is Brand okay?" Jughead felt lightheaded as even the gasping seemed to stop bringing oxygen into his lungs. Maybe Brand was dead. There was no other possible reason why his godfather wouldn't at least get an update about Jughead's whereabouts.
"Easy. Easy. You need to breathe. He's fine." FP's expression was still worried, though. "We're focusing on getting you treated before we do anything else. But after that you'll get to go see him."
"But you said-," Jughead had to suck in air again. Apparently the odds-on bet was that Jughead would be let out of this hospital before Brand was allowed out of wherever he was. Or maybe he was dead and FP just didn't want Jughead to know that while he was having a massive panic attack.
Or a heart attack.
"He's still in the hospital, yes, and he can't leave right away. He's awake now, though, and that's a very good sign." FP maintained steady eye contact as he spoke. "You need to breathe. Relax."
"Awake? As opposed to-,"
Trigger's head and shoulders popped up onto the bed beside him. To be honest, Trig was doing a great job pretending to be a service dog, Jughead thought, even as FP shoved Trigger back down.
"Stay down, monster. Now look, Jug, you need to focus on calming down right now." FP looked even more worried. "Apparently you have some kind of an arrhythmia. It's not a heart attack, but it seems to be pretty serious. The doctors said you should try and relax while they figure out what's going on with you."
Maybe FP really was lying to him, Jughead thought more frantically. Maybe the need to calm him down was a big enough deal to FP that he'd say anything – even lie about Brand being okay – just to get him through this crisis.
And then Jughead heard a rushing sound in his ears.
"I'm going to-," Jughead didn't quite get the words out, but he was relieved to feel FP grasping him tightly as everything went dark.
00000
Brand had been sure a nurse or doctor would come by any time after FP and Clark had left, but it had been almost an hour and nobody had so much as peeked into his room.
Huh.
It was likely that coma patients, or whatever he qualified as, didn't get a whole lot of attention. That probably also explained why there was no call button or anything within reach of the bed.
Brand really didn't feel like getting up and falling on his face, either.
So he continued waiting, getting hungrier and hungrier. It had been an awfully long time since he'd had anything to eat.
And then, at long last, the door opened.
"Mr. Davies?" A man in ill-fitting green scrubs approached the bed hesitantly, scowling down at Brand.
Great. This guy did not exactly exude competence, let alone professionalism.
"That's the name on the chart. Hopefully." Brand scowled back. "What's a guy got to do around here to get himself declared coma-free and cleared to eat?"
"First, can you tell me what happened?" The man stared at Brand intently for a few seconds before he moved to examine some nearly-illegible scrawling on a whiteboard hanging on the wall. "Who did this to you?"
"Well, I was kinda hoping you'd be the one to fill me in," Brand retorted sharply. "All I remember is-,"
The door swung open again, startling both of them.
"Who are you?" A doctor – a woman wearing an entirely different set of blue scrubs, carrying what looked like a hospital-issued iPad – spoke loudly from the doorway. "Who let you in here?"
Brand felt himself tense as he clocked the situation. He was horrified to realize that, unarmed and severely injured, he was basically a sitting duck.
Thankfully the intruder made a run for it, shoving past the doctor to leave the room, instead of attempting anything more dramatic or dangerous.
The doctor was stunned for a moment or two, but recovered quickly; she was on the phone with hospital security in a flash. "He's wearing green scrubs. Notify the nurses on floor three, just in case."
"Why floor three? Who's on floor three?" Brand asked alertly before he remembered – again – that he was in the running for least useful person in the entire building.
The doctor hung up the phone and regarded him silently.
"Okay, forget floor three. Why don't you just fill me in on what happened to me?" Brand tried again; it was probably some kind of a HIPAA violation to tell him who else was in the hospital.
"Well, Mr. Davies, you have a severe concussion and are apparently awake after a period of prolonged unconsciousness. The precise cause for that is something that has not been shared with me at this time." The doctor spoke carefully and then went back to regarding Brand silently.
Curiously, Brand amended. This doctor was dying of curiosity, and it was likely that she could not be read into certain details because they involved the case.
Well, he'd just have to piece together what he could, from what he could remember. It wasn't particularly difficult:
Someone must have come up behind Brand when he was confronting Tall Boy and hit him in the head with a blunt object. The FBI must not want it to become common knowledge who the attacker was.
"Where's SAC Wilson?" Brand asked. She'd know everything; somehow she always did.
"SAC Wilson? Don't you mean Agent Quinn?" The doctor frowned, clearly more puzzled than before. "She's the one who was there. I'm pretty sure Wilson just met everyone here, at the hospital."
Whoa.
Sarah was the person who had attacked him from behind? Brand felt his head spinning, and this time it had little to do with his head injury.
No wonder nobody at the RA or field office wanted this story getting out. Holy crap.
Hopefully FP knew all of this. But it was weird that he hadn't mentioned it, so maybe he didn't.
Yikes.
"Let's go with SAC Wilson for now," Brand said carefully. "She's my boss. You know how it is."
The doctor raised her eyebrows, but did not say anything more and seemed like she was amenable to tracking down Wilson for him.
Good. Brand needed to figure out what was going on, pronto.
00000
"Quinn, I need you to head to the RA for at least a few hours so they can get some work done and call it a day. Max and Joaquin are still there, and I can't expect the investigation to keep moving forward while agents are managing two teenagers and a puppy." Wilson massaged the bridge of her nose.
"No, you're right. They're probably wondering where I've been, too. I'll go right now," Sarah stood up from the cot where she'd been napping, right up until the SAC had woken her. "Is FP around? I'll take him with me. It would be good for our cover and keep him busy. And distracted."
SAC Wilson sighed heavily, but smiled. "Actually, he's not here. And if you want to maintain your cover in the manner you described, then you might want to head to Greendale General. But I'd really appreciate it if you could get the boys settled somewhere first."
Sarah bit her lip. The RA had been the option of last resort for Max and Joaquin, since FBI personnel were implicated in some very serious criminal activities. They most likely knew who all of the perpetrators were at this point, but she still didn't want to take any chances.
They knew everyone at the RA very well, and the facility was too small for much to happen without everyone knowing about it. That meant safety.
That also was the source of the problem now, though, since the teens were probably bored and curious. They'd begin poking around, and nobody at the RA could risk them seeing or hearing anything classified.
That would require monitoring them vigilantly.
"Has everything ground to a halt?" Sarah asked Wilson ruefully.
"Not quite, from what I hear, but it's just not… conducive."
"I'll bet. I can take them to a safe house and I'll arrange for a hand-picked team to rotate in and out. That way they won't be alone, and I'll be able to get to Greendale General by dinnertime," Sarah thought aloud. "What's FP doing there?"
"He's with Jughead." SAC Wilson was still smiling, and now her smile widened. "Williams picked them all up today; somehow Clark and FP figured out that Jughead was planning to leave his mother and attempt to take the SAT."
Sarah's jaw dropped.
"Chloe says Jughead's in rough shape but stable, and that he's being checked out fairly thoroughly, but that's mostly a precaution. But, let the record show that FP's texts have not confirmed that story; he is very concerned, and his language has been… colorful."
Wilson's tone was carefully neutral, as if she were not sure which story to believe. That was strange. Sarah would have expected the SAC to give more weight – maybe a whole lot more weight – to Chloe's report than to FP's.
Just then Wilson's phone began to buzz.
"Give me a minute; I need to take this, but I want to cover a few more details before you leave," SAC Wilson said, stepping out of the room.
Sarah nodded in reply, and then stared at the wall for a few moments while she considered the information she'd just been given.
Jughead was with FP; that was good. Medical attention was obviously good too. Hopefully Chloe's report was more accurate than FP's. It was possible the man was just worked up over everything that had transpired over the last couple of weeks, involving the Southside case. It had certainly dragged his son through a lot, and this was probably the first time FP felt able to actually help.
That alone might account for the discrepancy in accounts. But Wilson's credence to FP's version of events gave Sarah pause.
Quinn stood, gathered her belongings, and shifted her focus to preparing for the complicated job she would have scant time to accomplish with Joaquin, Max, and Never. They'd need to be relocated discreetly, soothed and reassured, and set up in what might be their home for a week or more if circumstances continued to be this complicated. Sarah would need to tread carefully to make sure they all felt secure at every step along the way.
The door opened again.
"Agent Quinn, scratch all of that. Davies is awake."
Wilson's tone was urgent; the information was not delivered as if it were good news.
Sarah felt her heart leap into her throat. "Is he…"
Anything that had Wilson pulling Sarah away from the teens and from the situation with Jughead and FP must be extremely serious.
"Someone not affiliated with the hospital put on some scrubs and managed to get past security and into Brandon's hospital room. Davies was alone with the intruder for an unknown period of time, and so far nobody can explain to me why there is no record of a single physician or nurse checking in on him for the past two and a half hours. The last people in his room were FP and Clark, and that was well over an hour ago."
Sarah's jaw dropped for the second time in this conversation.
"Unless we can determine that Davies is – and has been – completely lucid since waking, there is nothing but security footage from the hallways to help us determine what happened." SAC Wilson's voice rang with deadly finality. "Anything could have happened."
"I'll go to Davies." Quinn heard her own voice match Wilson's dire tone. This was beyond horrifying. "Do me a favor, though. Make sure that heads roll for this."
"That's the plan."
The two women left the cramped room, heading in opposite directions but with the same firm purpose in their strides.
00000
Archie cocked his head to one side as he processed the identity of the man who had just pushed past him in the stairwell. "Mr. Helgason? You work at the hospital?"
Gunnar's father had been moving swiftly down the stairs below the teen, but he stopped short and then slowly turned to face Archie. "Ye-eah. I pick up jobs here and there, anyway. Sometimes at this hospital."
Archie nodded, a feeling of gratitude welling up in him. "I didn't know. Thanks. I mean, my dad's doing a lot better because everyone's so on top of things here."
"Wait, Fred's here? He's a patient?" Mr. Helgason looked very surprised. He must not have been working on the third floor. "What happened? I'm glad to hear that he's doing better, but… better from what?"
Archie didn't know all of the details – surprise, surprise, many were classified –, but the idea of sharing the portions of the story that he did know suddenly seemed unbelievably appealing.
Archie had texted Betty and Veronica a hurried update, but that had not lessened the pressure building inside of him to just… talk. Maye even rant.
Which he should probably avoid doing.
"Well, some of it I know, and some of it I've sort of pieced together," Archie prefaced his story.
Mr. Helgason climbed back up the steps between he and Archie and motioned for him to continue. "That's fine; I won't hold you too strictly to anything you tell me. I'm sure it's been really stressful."
"Yeah. No kidding. And Jughead's off with his mother, so it's not even over yet," Archie blurted before he stopped himself. "Hang on, let me start from the beginning so it's not confusing."
"Yeah. You do that." Mr. Helgason's expression was gratifyingly encouraging.
Archie finally felt himself begin to relax as he told the story for the first time, filling in the gaps with what he'd been able to ascertain and sometimes guess, primarily based on snippets he'd overheard or intuited.
And it was really helpful to just say it out loud. Mr. Helgason listened intently throughout, offering all of the right reactions and condolences, and when Archie had finished he patted him warmly on the back and wished them all well before he left.
Archie watched Gunnar's dad disappear down the stairwell, enjoying the feeling of even slight relief. He then resumed climbing the stairs to finish his own errand: Archie had been heading to visit Brand and see how he was doing. When Jug did come back, it would be important to be able to tell the friend who had tried to protect his dad from being shot – thrown himself in front of a gunman, Fred had told him – that Archie had tried to do at least a little of the same when it came to Brand.
And now, thanks to Mr. Helgason, Archie felt a little more equal to the task.
00000
Brand was not at all surprised when he was not left alone for even a second after that very special incident.
He was, however, a little surprised when Sarah Quinn was the one who showed up to represent the FBI portion of his new round-the-clock surveillance teams.
So much for specifically requesting SAC Wilson.
The nurse who'd been assigned to his room had been refreshingly relaxed and bubbly, which Brand had appreciated. It made sense that she'd be so chatty and lively; this was a cushy job and probably a nice break for the young woman.
From the moment Sarah walked in the door of the hospital room, however, it was like a flash freeze. Anything resembling 'relaxed' or 'chatty' had ceased, and everyone – even the bubbly nurse – had become extremely tense.
That had unfortunately included Brand. He was too sore to be this tense, and honestly too banged up to even consider what he was tensing his muscles in preparation for: was he planning to fight Sarah? Attempt to defend himself against another sneak attack? Arm wrestle her for the call button that had been restored to its rightful place – completely redundantly, since a nurse was now assigned to sit in the room at all times – or somehow disarm the gun-toting agent he'd previously sparred with and knew full well could overpower him in his current state?
It was scary how laughable any of those prospects were at this moment. Being tense and ready was a complete waste of energy.
And maybe that was why he was tense.
Once again, Brand was a sitting duck. And this time the threat was not planning to let him out of her sight anytime soon.
Brand massaged the back of his neck and tried to avoid eye contact.
The silence stretched out longer than it had any right to, and Sarah was studying Brand with a frown. She did not speak, though, and was clearly waiting for Davies to begin the conversation.
This was not awkward.
The nurse was starting to look back and forth between Quinn and Davies like their silence was stressing her out.
Nope; this was not awkward at all.
00000
It felt like a standoff. How had they gotten to this place? Betty watched the exchange play out between mother and daughter with a sinking feeling. It seemed increasingly likely that there was nothing she'd be able to do to stop - or even redirect - this runaway train.
"Mija, you have to understand-,"
"Excuse me? I don't have to do anything." Veronica's eyes were wide with self-righteous anger. "And this – collaborating with – conspiring with – how could you possibly believe that some rogue FBI agents that came to you clandestinely were right and you should help them over literally anyone else in this scenario?"
"Nobody has shared anything or made any sort of response to them. Not yet."
"Not yet?" Veronica hit a very shrill pitch. "Do you even hear yourself?"
"If things are so far gone that the local SAC is tainted, then who are you to say that-,"
"You actually believe that SAC Wilson is corrupt? On the say-so of people who are clearly doing something illegal? Are you insane? They asked questions about Archie." Veronica was picking up speed and starting to sound slightly hysterical. "But sure, of course it's all about Jughead, of course all roads lead to Jughead – only it's my boyfriend these illegal operatives with guns want information about, and you're actually considering giving it to them?"
Veronica made an exploding gesture in her hands as if to illustrate how asinine her mother sounded. "Instead of listening to – oh, I don't know – Agent Davies, Clark, SAC Wilson, Agent Quinn-,"
"Who is sleeping with FP Jones," Alice interjected. "We aren't idiots, Veronica. This whole thing is bizarre."
Veronica did not have an immediate response for that, but based on her facial expression it would not take long for her to begin yelling in earnest.
And yelling was very rarely persuasive. Or productive.
Betty could not pretend she did not feel everything that Veronica did. But she had a decided advantage in that this was not her own mother, and she could see the bigger picture – it was much easier to strategize in the moment when she was not fighting a violent urge to lash out over what looked for all the world like an earth-shattering level of betrayal by her own mother.
So Betty made her best bid, knowing that it would probably hit Alice like a ton of bricks. She could only pray that Hermione would see reason as well, because Betty had no earthly idea what would motivate Veronica's mother to rethink her position on the actions that she was poised to take.
Betty took a deep breath and made her voice as level and serious as she could manage. And then she shot the only ammunition she possessed:
"Sweet Pea was taken from the Southside today, against his will, by social services. Tall Boy shot Fred Andrews. This is not about choosing sides anymore; this is about protecting the people we love."
Alice went pale. "Where is Sweet Pea?"
Good. Betty could work with that reaction. And Veronica had shut up, letting her best friend take the lead, so clearly they were on the same page and both knew that this was more likely to work than any other approach.
If only they could get Hermione to –
"Tall Boy shot Fred?" Hermione sat down heavily in a chair at her large dining room table. "He's not– is he–,"
Oh. Whoa. Mrs. Lodge suddenly looked like she might be about to pass out.
"He's at Riverdale General," Betty said quickly, wondering if Hermione was about to join him – as a patient. "I think he's going to be okay, but... I mean, he was shot. It's… not ideal."
Well. That had sounded awfully stupid. Thankfully, Hermione seemed deeply affected and was staring at Betty much more thoughtfully all of a sudden.
It seemed promising. Betty needed to be completely sure that both Hermione and Alice were on her side, though, and completely willing to hear her out before she pitched her plan. That was the only way this was going to work; it was going to be a long shot even if everyone was entirely on board.
"What… what can we do to help?" Hermione asked, blinking hard against – tears? "If we're not planning to side with the FBI, or with the Serpents, or with any other faction, then what can we do?"
"We create our own side." Veronica stepped in, making quick eye contact with Betty as if to reassure her that she had calmed down and they were working together once more. Whew. "We need to circle the wagons. To do that, we need to decide who's on the inside and what we're going to do to protect them. To protect ourselves."
"And we need to get ready," Betty jumped in. "Because Gunnar thinks there's going to be a war. Supposedly, this war will be primarily in and about the Southside, but it's pretty clear that doesn't let us off the hook."
"The band has a member – Gunnar – at ground zero," Veronica began ticking off examples on her fingers, "Jughead can't get out of the line of fire for love or money, the FBI are asking questions about Archie – supposedly to get to Jughead, but who knows for sure –, Sweet Pea's in the middle of the sting that's starting this so-called war, and both Davies and Mr. Andrews are in the hospital right now because of all this."
Veronica and Betty exchanged furtive looks over the piece they had decided to leave unsaid: that the spreadsheet of incriminating information that set off the sting (that was now starting a war) had originated with the three teenagers in this very room.
If they decided to do the right thing, right here and right now, they'd be protecting themselves in the process. Saying more about the spreadsheet would make no difference.
Besides, keeping that information a secret from Alice and Hermione could turn out to be helpful… for their own protection.
"What do you mean, 'get ready'?" Alice asked. Her expression was determined, and the question sounded eager instead of skeptical.
Good; they'd won Alice over.
"I think I know," Hermione surprised Betty and Veronica by answering Alice before either of them could. Mrs. Lodge's shock seemed to be giving way to determination as well. In fact, there was a hint of a dark smile overtaking her expression. "And I like where this is going. It's about time we took some control of things. If there's going to be a war, we need to be armed and ready to stand our ground."
"It's not like anyone else is going to do it for us," Alice agreed, a vicious bite creeping into her tone.
Betty sneaked a peek at Veronica. This was maybe not exactly what they'd intended.
"I'll make a few calls today. Get us some training and some… tools." Hermione slid her hands over the tabletop as if clearing her mind with the gesture. "The next time someone comes for us, or for anyone under our protection, they'll get a whole lot more than they bargained for."
"Uh…" Veronica made a face, but Betty signaled her to stop.
"Agent Quinn has taught me some stuff about self defense," Betty offered quickly. "She might be willing to teach all of us."
Losing control of the situation could happen in more than one way. This one at least had the virtue of moving in more or less the right direction, and they had the option of directing the energy even if they could not necessarily stop it once it gained momentum.
They'd figure it out as they went. That would have to be enough.
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I'm entirely too ready to see Betty, Veronica, and Alice kick some butt. Hermione could use an outlet for her energies, too. (rubbing my hands together in anticipation) I hope you're excited too! We're clearly getting closer to real answers on some things, and other things might just be getting started.
Including, for many people, holidays! I hope you're all doing well, and dodging any and all stress as if you're Neo in the matrix. I'll look forward to your faithful notes - and I so, so appreciate your continuing to read along!
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