Goodbye

Summary:

Saying good bye to the love of your life is hard to do.

Author's Note.

Decy asked for a fic with the prompt "saying goodbye to a dying lover" from the 'build a blurb' prompt list. She also asked for lots of angst. Hopefully I succeeded in her requests. I definitely cried while writing this….which I was really trying not to do since part of this was written at my local coffeeshop and I didn't want to explain why I was in tears.

With that said, this fic does revolve around the death of a major character by cancer (I would guess that's obvious from the description and the prompt). Please take care of yourself. If you're anything like me, you might want a tissue box nearby as you read.

All right, I'm not sure where to go from here, so I will let the fic take it from here…. ~rose

"It's not fair." Jughead feels like a petulant child the moment the words leave his mouth. Of course it isn't fair. Life isn't meant to be fair.

Betty reaches for his hand and gives it a weak squeeze. Her strength is gone. He wants to squeeze her hand in return, but her skin already bruises like an overripe peach. He can't bear the thought of being the cause of any more of the purple-blue splotches marring her sallow skin.

"It's time, Juggie. I want to go home." A slight wheezing accompanies her words.

He nods. What else can he do? If he could cure her by laying down his life, he would do so in a heartbeat. But, then she would be the one in his position. The one left living with the raw, gaping wounds of loss. He promises her that he will not pine away once she is gone. Their children, Baxter and Juliet, need him. As much as they need him now, they will need him even more when she is no longer with them. He still struggles to register the very real possibility that barring some miracle, in a few days time—a few weeks at most—Betty will no longer be the constant presence at his side.

Slipping behind the wheelchair, he pushes her through the halls of the hospital. Veronica is waiting for them out front. Her chauffeured car is easier to get Betty in and out of as they bring her home for the last time. The hospital bed is already set up in their living room and the hospice volunteers have already arranged everything she will need.

For however long she has left, the goal is to make Betty as comfortable as possible. To ease her passing and allow her to find contentment in her final days. She wants to be home with her family and surrounded by her husband and children and dearest friends. And, so, that is what Jughead will do.

Six months ago, Betty was feeling off. Not quite herself, as she put it. So, she scheduled a doctor's visit. Maybe her diet was missing some nutrients, or she was working too hard and needed rest. Maybe she had developed a new allergy or caught a lingering bug. Really, they thought of every culprit for her symptoms other than what it actually turned out to be—Cancer.

There had been so many tests. Blood work. Scans. More tests. There'd been medicines with names he couldn't pronounce. Treatments which wracked her body with side effects as bad, if not worse than the disease itself. She lost weight. She lost color. She lost her hair. And still the cancerous cells multiplied at an alarming rate. Nothing worked. Nothing helped. The love of his life wasted away before his eyes. It all happened so quickly. One day she was well, the next she was dying.

He held Betty's hand as the doctor revealed the diagnosis. Side by side they researched treatments and statistics. While Betty concentrated on 'getting better,' Jug took on the full load of the domestic tasks they'd previously divided down the middle. When Betty spent weeks in the hospital because her immune system was compromised by the treatments, Jughead filled both parental roles for their children.

They didn't hide Betty's illness from their kids. At ten and eight, Baxter and Juliet didn't fully understand, but they knew enough. On her good days, Betty and Jug would take their children out of school and hoard a lifetime worth of memories. On her bad days, Baxter and Juliet would talk to their mom via video chat. And on her worst days, only Jug would see her precious face before he switched the call to voice only and hand the phone to the kids.

Through it all, Betty remained Betty. She did all she could to make certain that when she was gone they—he—could continue on without her. She made lists and notes of everything he needed to know. She wrote long diary entries which became more and more stream of consciousness as her illness progressed. These she meant to be read after she was gone, a way to provide comfort and succor in the years to come. Meanwhile Jughead wanted to lash out at the world as though that would soothe the pain in his heart, he never did. Betty needed him to be strong. She needed to know that he wouldn't fall apart or fall to the bottle when she was no longer there. And, so he gave her that.

In the week Betty is home, Jughead spends every possible moment with Betty. Baxter and Juliet abandon their upstairs bedrooms and take up residence in Jughead's study. They spend their days reading Betty's favorite books aloud and watching her favorite movies. For the hundredth time, they tell the kids about the time Jughead tried to save the Twilight Drive-In. How, of all the movies he could have chosen for the last night, he chose 'Rebel Without a Cause' because Betty suggested it. It is a sign of how serious things are when the kids don't protest the story's repetition.

Veronica fills the living room with beautiful things. She lavishes her best friend with every luxury and comfort that money can buy. And still, she weeps silently in the kitchen when she can't do anything else to ease Betty's pain. When Jughead witnesses her tears, he doesn't say anything. He simply holds her hand. It's a simple gesture to convey he understands. They are both losing the woman who helped them become the best versions of themselves. The one who always believes in their potential. After a moment, Veronica dries her eyes and sweeps back into the living room full of confidence in grace. There will be more than enough time to mourn later.

When Betty's family—Alice, Polly, and the twins—visit, Jughead takes the children outside. Although, they never go far, fearing the moment they leave the house, Betty will too. So, they go for ice cream or to play in the park. None of them really feel like indulging in these moments, but they need a break too. They need a chance to cry and scream and release all their pent up emotions.

As she writes up her lists, Betty suggests they find a support group or counselor to help the kids process their grief. It goes unspoken that she wants the same for Jughead. For once, Jughead has been proactive. Before Betty makes her suggestions, Jughead has already talked to Miss Burble and has a list of people who can help. Betty smiles and squeezes his hand, as if to say she knows he will carry on. He can never deny her anything, so he believes her even as he doubts himself.

Jellybean and FP stop by everyday. They make Betty laugh with anecdotes from Jughead's childhood. Most of the stories are embellished versions ones she's heard before. But, she still laughs every time like it's the first time. Sometimes he wonders if the stories seem new to her even in their tired retellings. Her memories are fading in and out. She struggles to stay awake for an entire movie. In her eyes, he can see that she is fading fast.

Before he leaves, FP wraps Jug in an embrace and thumps him on the back. "Be strong," he says and follows it with, "It's okay to grieve, boy. Don't bottle up everything inside."

Jellybean wraps him in an equally fierce hug. "Call me anytime, okay. We love Betty too."

And, when they're alone, Jughead holds Betty's hand, kisses her chapped lips, and whispers "I love you," as tears fall down his cheeks.

She repeats the refrain, her eyes as moist his.

"Juggie."

Primed to expect bad news, his stomach twisted in sour, anxious knots at the faltering, plaintive quality of Betty's voice. Today wasn't a treatment day, or an appointment day. Today was supposed to be a good day, a day off. Veronica had treated Betty to a spa day. Yet, she was home early.

He took a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm his rattled nerves. His fingers stilled on the keyboard. The words weren't great, but at least he was writing something. Though the diagnosis had exploded any semblance of normalcy in their lives and they were still feeling the shockwaves months later, the rest of the world had not stopped. He still needed to work. Even if they didn't have mouths to feed and bills to pay, he needed the distraction.

Swiveling around on his chair, Jughead froze as he took in his wife. Hesitating in the doorway of his study, Betty didn't make a move to enter. She worried at her lower lip and wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Betts," he breathed her name in the same reverent awe he always felt when he looked on her. His heart swelled with love. Love which radiated from him and filled the space between them. A smile softened the anxiety hardened lines of his face and his tired eyes sparked bright in the presence of his other half. Added to the eternal chorus in the back of his brain that he was the luckiest man in the world because she loved him, was a new refrain which reminded him that they were lucky for each day, each moment, they were together.

Even though her illness and the increasingly aggressive treatments ravaged her body, he still found her the most beautiful woman in the world. Today was no different. She would always be his Betty. Nothing could change his opinion of her. But, today was the first time he'd seen her without her iconic blonde hair. For a flickering moment, his fingers twitched with the longing to run through her silken hair once more. The notion was gone before the emotion could even cross his face.

Or, so he thought.

Self-consciously, she brushed her fingers across her newly shorn scalp. Her fingers jerked away from the unfamiliar sensation. "Maybe I shouldn't…"

In a flash, Jughead crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her. "You're beautiful, hon."

"But…" Her fingers entangled in his hair as though it could make up for her loss.

"But nothing." He pulled her closer and wrapped her tighter in his embrace. In his arms, he could feel all the sharp lines and angles of her bones

"It feels strange," she admitted after several minutes of their silent embrace. Pulling back enough to wipe at the renegade tears welling in her eyes, she gave a half-frustrated, half-mournful sigh. "It's just hair. Why am I crying?"

"It's a loss, Betts. It's okay to mourn it." He traced his fingers up her spine, feeling the jut of every vertebrae. When she decided it was time to shave off her hair before the treatments could completely ruin it, Jughead had offered to go with her. She'd chosen to bring Veronica with her instead. V had turned the outing into a spa day, which he knew had done more to bolster her spirits than his presence could have. It made the experience feel like a choice instead of an inevitability. "If it will help, I'll shave my hair off as well."

"No," Betty squealed and clasped both her hands as protectively over his hair. "Don't you dare, Jughead Jones. I won't allow it."

"Okay." He smiled as he untangled her hands from his hair and kissed the knuckles of each hand. "I love you. I made a vow to you—in sickness and in health. Remember? I will never break it."

"I love you too, Juggie." Her green eyes shimmered with new tears, though these she didn't attempt to burst away. "Thanks."

—

The next morning, Jughead woke late. Betty was already up, getting the kids ready for school. He had said she didn't need to worry about that, he could do it. But, she refused. She wanted to follow as close to her normal routine as possible.

Making his way into the kitchen, Jughead froze in his tracks at the image before him. He rubbed his eyes as if to make certain he wasn't seeing things.

"Betty?"

She looked up from where she was making sandwiches and offered him a bright smile. "Do you like it?"

He nodded mutely. She wore a grey, knit beanie with a familiar crown shaped cuff. Closing the space between them, instinctually he adjusted the angle of the hat so it sat just right. The gesture was so natural, one he'd done hundreds, if not thousands of times before. Running his fingers along the familiar ribbed pattern, he absently catalogued the few differences. The yarn was softer than any which composed his hats. The peaks and valleys of the crown were less distinct. But, there was no mistaking it as anything other than his iconic crown beanie. "Where did you find this?"

"I made it. When I realized this was a possibility," she gestured vaguely at her head, "I decided I wanted your beanie. I know what it meant to you…and, I guess, I wanted to borrow some of that for myself. You don't mind, do you?"

When he was young, his crown beanie had set him apart. It marked him as an outsider, an individual. He was weird and proud of the fact. Betty was the only one who never tried separating him from his beanie in an ill-advised attempt to make him 'grow up' or 'conform.' When his beanie had been damaged or worn beyond repair, she never suggested it was time to throw it out. Instead, she'd always been the one to make him a new one or mend it.

Over the years, the crown had offered comfort and courage. It was a security blanket, a defensive wall, and a mask. When people looked at him, they saw the hat and not his insecurities and fears. When he eventually gave up wearing his beanie on a regular basis, it wasn't because anyone had made him. Rather, he found he didn't need it in the same way anymore—especially when Betty was at his side. Occasionally, he had felt self-conscious about his beanie, and part of him wondered if it was silly to imbue a hat with such qualities. But, now as Betty sought a similar comfort and courage from his beanie's doppelgänger, he understood it had never been a foolish endeavor.

"Not at all. It's all your, Betts, it's all yours." Jughead kissed the crown of her head through the beanie.

Over her remaining months, she adamantly and repeatedly forbidden Alice from purchasing her the realistic wigs with blonde hair and high ponytails. She set aside the expensive scarves with designer labels gifted to her by Veronica. Instead, Betty practically lived in the crown beanie in much the same way he had when they were young.

The time they have left seems to be counted in hours instead of days. Jughead, Baxter, and Juliet spend every moment they can beside Betty. Over the last couple of days, Betty spends more time asleep than awake and when she is conscious, she seems disoriented more often than not. And, then, this morning, it's as if everyone can sense the end is closing in.

Her family and his, their friends, make their visits and say their final goodbyes. Betty rallies slightly—enough so she is aware of her visitors and can share a last memory. They reminisce over the good times. There are hugs and tears. Eventually, there is only Veronica left. She stays long enough to say her goodbyes to her best friend and only returns briefly to bring them dinner from Pop's.

"Thanks V, for everything." Betty squeezes Veronica's hand with more strength than she has managed for days. The gesture is more than Veronica can bear and she breaks into tears as she hugs Betty, burying her face against her best friend's shoulder.

"Bettykins, I'm going to miss you so much," Veronica's voice is muffled.

"I know, I know." Betty strokes Veronica's hair in the same comforting gesture she uses on the kids.

After a moment, Betty clasps Veronica's hand and catches her eyes. There's a hitch in Betty's voice when she speaks. "Take care of them for me. Please."

"Of course, of course," Veronica promises with such conviction that Jughead knows there has never been another option.

He walks Veronica to the door as Baxter and Juliet find their places on the bed beside their mother. Standing in the foyer, Jughead offers Veronica a quick hug. She has always been a good friend to them, especially to Betty, but over the last six months she has gone beyond what anyone could expect. She brought beauty into their world when all seemed bleak and helpless. She moved effortlessly through the complicated layers of red tape and bureaucracy he couldn't even begin to fathom with the same efficiency she manages her businesses.

"Thank you," he's adds his own gratitude to Betty's sentiments.

A melancholic weight lingers in her eyes. "I'll be back in the morning. I'll…I'll take care of everything."

Swallowing back the lump of emotion in this throat, Jug rasps a choked, "Thanks."

Veronica lets herself out as Jug returns to his family.

Ironically, for a family of Joneses, no one is hungry. But, Betty asks for a last meal with her family, so they pick at their food and still eat more than her. A spot of vanilla shake clings to the corner of her lips. Unable to resist the temptation, he leans in and kisses her lips clean. She giggles and kisses him back. A vanilla shake will never again taste so sweet.

An unspoken conversation passes between husband and wife—if this is going to be there last night as a family, they want it to be something they can look on with more than grief. So, they settle in for a movie night, their Friday tradition. The kids snuggle up as close as possible to their mom. Jughead does his best to duplicate Betty's hot chocolate recipe. It's not quite the same, though Baxter and Juliet don't seem to notice. Then again, he's probably not the best judge, since all food tastes bitter to him at the moment. Betty chooses 'Roman Holiday' and Jughead mourns at the reminder they will never check off 'visiting Rome' from their bucket list. Though the movie plays on the tv, no one really pays it any mind. It's been a long day, a long week, and a long six months. They simply want to be together for as long as possible.

First Juliet, then Baxter falls asleep. Jughead gently wakes them so Betty can wish them goodnight. Each in their turn, she hugs them as close and tightly as she can. The embraces linger and she whispers words of love and assurance to them. They are young, too young to lose their mother, but at least they know she doesn't want to leave him. After she kisses them goodnight, Jughead carries them to his study and tucks them into bed.

For the first time all day, he and Betty are alone.

"Come here." Betty pats the spot beside her on the bed and he doesn't hesitate to comply.

For the weeks before they brought her home, he hadn't been able to get this close to her with all the wires and tubes and monitors. Now, they are stripped away to the essential few. The last remnants of her strength is fading and she leans against him more than sits. Wrapping his arm around her, he holds her close, trying to saturate his heart and soul with the imprint of Betty in his arms. Enough to last him a lifetime alone.

Betty's breathing is shallow as she flips through the photo album. Her fingers trace over the photographs like she's trying to memorize every detail to take with her into the hereafter. Every so often, she starts reminiscing about a particular photo, her voice fading before she can make it more than a sentence or two into her story. Jug picks up the narrative, choking back tears so he can relive them with her one last time.

"I'm tired," Betty says. Her eyes close and she rests her hand over a photo from their wedding placed side by side with a picture of the four Jones from their last family outing before her diagnosis. He swallows hard unable to imagine what the future pages of the album will look like when there are only three Joneses left to fill the pictures. At present, all he can see is a sepia-toned future drained of color.

"Juggie…will you hold me? Like we used to…when we were young…."

"Of course, Betts, of course." He helps her recline the bed and lie down on her side.

He slides into the bed behind her. Her back presses to his front and he wraps an arm around her. She feels like a porcelain doll in his arms—fragile and cold. The warmth of his body seeps into her and she leans back into him. He presses a series of kisses her to her shoulder. She once teased him that it was his favorite shoulder. Kisses travel across her shoulder and up the preternaturally pale column of her neck.

"I love you, Juggie," she whispers.

"I love you too, Betts," he replies in a hoarse whisper.

"Thank you for everything." Her voice cracks with emotion. "I've had the best life. I couldn't ask for anything more…"

"Oh Betts," he presses a kiss to the back of her head. She's still wearing the crown beanie. "Betts….don't go…."

She places her hand over his and squeezes it. "I'm not leaving because I want to. I'm not abandoning you Jughead Jones."

"I know, I know." Surprising himself, he realizes despite knowing his heart will rend when she passes, he doesn't feel the familiar pressing weight of abandonment.

"You're an fantastic husband, an exceptional lover, an amazing dad…" her voice is fading, but he can hear the smile on her lips as she reminisces, "You're not alone Juggie."

"Betts…"

"Please, Juggie, I know you. You need to hear this. Imprint it on your heart."

Their bodies press so closely that it is as if they are one in body and soul. His nod moves through both of them. A long silence falls between them, only the soft rasp of breathing fills the air. For a moment he thinks she's asleep, then she starts speaking in stilted starts and stops.

"Thank you for loving me, for being my best friend, my husband, the father of our children…." At the mention of each role he plays in her life, memories flood his brain, and he knows she is remembering the same. "Thank you for being my partner in our amazing life…"

Jughead—the man who makes his living by the power and eloquence of his words—is at a loss for words. How can he tell her everything she means to him? That she is his heart and soul. That he is a better man because she is in his life.

"You are my heart and soul too." Clasping his hand, she lifts it to her lips and presses a kiss to his fingers. "I love you, Juggie, forever."

Breathing in her presence, Jughead holds her close and remembers when they slept like this every night. His thumb brushes soothing circles on the inside of her wrist. He whispers sweet nothings into her ears until she falls asleep in his arms.

—

As the sun rises, Betty does not wake. She is still breathing. Barely. Her pulse slows. Jughead slips from the bed and goes to his children. They sit on the loveseat in his office and hold each other. For the present, they have no more tears. Calls are made. Family arrives to sit in vigil. Veronica takes charge, making certain there is food or tissues or anything else as they need it.

By mid-afternoon, Betty slips from this world into the next. Jug fears his soul will follow hers, but the presence of his children grounds him. Betty might be gone from this world, but she hasn't left him. She is there in all the people who love her. In the people she helped. Her presence lingers in their memories and resides in their hearts. Jug sees her curiosity and kindness in Baxter, her intelligence and generosity in Juliet. Their son has her eyes, their daughter her smile.

Jughead never stops loving her. The grief potent and sharp in the days and months following her death eventually dulls to an aching throb. Although, even years later, sometimes grief hits him out of nowhere like a ton of bricks and he is paralyzed with memories and pain. And yet, as time passes, there are more good days than bed. They can talk about Betty without tears. Her memory brings smiles. He learns how to live without her by his side, but she is never truly gone. Her love is in his heart, her voice echoes in his thoughts. Jughead knows he is a better man because he has the honor of loving Betty and being loved in return.