Author's Note:

Instead of fretting about what might happen in the last two episodes this season (Season Five), I decided to turn that energy towards a creative outlet. After 5x17, I wanted Betty to have a chance to grieve (and spend more time with Jughead).

This story starts in the immediate aftermath of finding Polly's body. So, please be aware this story focuses heavily on grief, death in the family, guilt, and holding on by a thread.

The title of the chapter comes from a line in 'Perfect for You,' one of the songs in musical "Next to Normal." (Which is the musical Riverdale is featuring this year.)

You Square all the Corners, I Straighten the Curves

Time lost all meaning as they stood holding each other and crying. Hours, days, or eternities could have passed them by and they would have been none the wiser. The only marker of the passage of time was the deepening darkness turning the murky grey sky to a black starless void. A pervasive chill settled deep into her bones leaving her as numb on the outside as she was on the inside. The sudden hoot of a lone owl on the hunt hung heavy in the air. The reminder that life still went on outside their bubble of grief, snapped her out of the timeless abyss which held them.

Betty blinked. Her eyes were swollen and painful from too many tears. She needed to step away, call the sheriff, and make arrangements. Though her knees threatened to buckle, she couldn't move. Alice leaned on Betty until Betty was bearing not only her own weight but the entirety of her mother's and their combined grief as well.

"Mom, mom," Betty tried to shake Alice out of her stupor. Her mom didn't respond, at least not in a way which allowed Betty to move.

"My little girl. My baby." Alice repeated over and over again. Betty knew her mother wasn't referring to her.

"C'mon, mom," Betty led the grieving Alice to a nearby car and helped her sit on the bumper. She tried not to think what secrets that car might hide as well.

With Alice situated, Betty paced back towards the car with Polly's—she swallowed back the impulse to fall apart—with Polly's body and pulled out her cellphone to dial Sheriff Keller. Learning from the past, she would not make the mistake of leaving the car unattended this time. She would stand vigil until she could hand her sister over to the proper authorities.

It didn't take long for Sherif Keller to arrive and take over the scene. Betty was glad to hand this responsibility over to someone else. She was by no means done with her responsibilities for this evening, not even done with the police or caring for her sister's body. At least Sheriff Keller would keep the FBI out of her hair for tonight. She didn't have the energy to deal with the pompous jackass that was Glen. Instead she stuffed her failed FBI career into the recesses of her mind and turned back to her mother. Alice clutched at her chest and rocked back and forth.

"My baby's gone, she's dead. No….no! My baby," Alice wailed. Her words echoed on the wind in a chilling repeated refrain and sent icy daggers to Betty's heart. Polly wasn't the younger daughter, she wasn't the baby of the family. Did Alice wish it was Betty lying there instead? Did she blame her living daughter for the other's fate?

Like everything else she couldn't deal with, Betty shoved the hurt deeper inside. She hid it behind the layers of protective walls until the sharp, piercing edges were blunted and tangled with the years of unmanaged trauma. The walls stretched and groaned as she once again pushed the limits of her capacity. Despite the growing pressure inside, her walls still shifted to accommodate the newest pain. The walls would not break—yet.

Helping her mom back to the station wagon, Betty felt like the parent in this situation. One of them needed to keep it together and it wasn't going to be Alice. The drive back home was simultaneously both too long and too short. They—no, she—would need to tell the twins. Betty swallowed back the bile rising in her throat. How did you tell nine year olds there mother was dead? That they were orphans?

In contrast to the growing night, the Cooper house wasn't dark when they arrived. Someone had turned on the porch light. From behind the curtains, the inside lights glowed with a golden welcome. Occasionally a flicker of movement silhouetted against the curtains. She was glad for the light, for the warmth and life waiting within. She didn't think she could bear it if the house was as cold and dark as she felt within.

This time, as Betty guided her mom inside, Alice had stopped crying. Betty was thankful for that. Hearing their grandmother's raw wails of unfiltered pain wasn't how the twins needed to learn the news. While Betty helped her mom out of her coat, Jughead appeared silently in the doorway from the next room. He'd volunteered to watch the twins for her. When their eyes met, he knew instantly. Betty was so grateful there was one person to whom she didn't need to break the news.

"I'm so sorry Betts," he said softly. His voice was filled with the same fierce and tender understanding. He was the only one who ever saw the real person behind her masks. Her already straining walls threatened to crack and spill forth all her pain at his slightest gesture of empathy.

Shaking her head, she held back as he reached for her. No matter how much she longed to be engulfed by his strong, comforting arms, to breathe in his familiar scent, if he touched her now, she'd shatter into a million, splintered shards. She couldn't afford to break. Not yet. Too many people still depended on her.

"Not yet," she whispered. The momentary hurt which danced in his eyes at her rejection, quickly morphed to understanding.

"Whatever you need," he promised.

"How are Juni and Dag?" She glanced around for the presence of her red headed niece and nephew.

"They're watching a movie. We just started it. They've both eaten dinner and are ready for bed. I think they can sense something is wrong, but for now they're resting." He moved out of the way so Betty could lead her mom upstairs.

"Thanks Jug. Can you stay for a bit? I want to put my mom to bed."

"Of course. I will be here for as long as you need me." He slipped back into the family room to keep an eye on the kids.

Forever, flitted at the edge of her consciousness, though she didn't dare speak it. That was wanting too much. More than she deserved. Despite everything, Betty smiled. It was so good to have Jughead back in her life.

—

The movie credits were rolling by the time Betty came back downstairs. She stood in the doorway for a moment, surveying the scene. In the midst of all that was wrong, something felt right about the vignette before her. The coffee table was covered with paper and crayons. Children's chapter books mixed with her mysteries novels and Jughead's true crime stories. The books balanced on the end table beside the armchair. A collection of empty hot chocolate mugs and popcorn kernels scattered in the bottom of a bowl were all the evidence remaining of a non-Alice-approved movie time snack.

Jughead sat in the armchair purportedly watching the last minutes of the movie, though his attention was clearly attuned to the twins' emotional state. Witnessing the ease with which he moved around the house and interacted with the twins, Betty felt as though the empty spaces haunting the house were suddenly filled. There was a rightness to his presence here. Since her return to Riverdale, she missed this, missed him. Once upon a time, this house had been as much his as it was hers. He belonged here. His presence permeated the walls and infused into the floorboards. Even the changes in him seemed to belong. The glasses were new and welcomed addition. Sensing her lurking presence, he glanced up and nodded his welcome.

Curled up on opposite ends of the couch, the twins snuggled under layers of blankets. Despite being well past their bedtime, their eyes were open and alert. Jughead was right, they sensed the magnitude of the moment. Juniper noticed her first.

"Auntie Betty—" Juni's red head unburrowed from the middle of her blanket burrito. "Did you find Mama?"

Dagwood studied his aunt intensely, the same question on his face.

Betty made her way into the room and cleared off a spot on the coffee table to sit. Dagwood and Juniper shifted from their opposite ends of the couch to the center. The twins held hands, their fingers entwined. She tasted blood as she bit her lip in the effort to stifle back a sob. There was so much of the mother the barely knew and the father they would never know in them. Betty perched along the edge of the table and clasped her hands in her lap. Her knuckles whitened with the pressure of her grip, but it was the only way she could prevent the instinct to dig her nails into the tender flesh of her palms.

While she gathered her thoughts and struggled to find the right words, Jughead moved from his chair and cleared a space beside her. Respecting her plea from earlier, he sat down—lending her his support, his strength—without touching. His warmth radiated off him in waves. She was cold. So cold. She'd been cold for so long. Cold and alone. Risking a glance, she caught his eyes. Though hidden behind his glasses, they were still the same deep, fathomless blue which expressed everything he felt for her. He'd never been able to hide the depth of his affection. Maybe she wasn't alone anymore after all.

With a deep breath, Betty gathered her courage and took her niece's and nephew's hands. "Juni, Dag, do you remember when we talked about what it might mean that your mom was missing?" The twins nodded. Their expressions were serious and solemn. They were old before their time. Betty gave their hands a gentle squeeze and wished there was some other way. "This evening, Grandma and I, we had a lead about where your mom might be. We were too late…."

—

It was well after midnight by the time she finally got the twins to bed. Maybe she shouldn't have told them tonight, but she couldn't lie to them. They'd been living in this limbo too. After tucking them into bed, leaving the hall light on, and once again checking on her mother, Betty was finally ready to attend to herself. She'd sent Jughead home when she took the twins upstairs. He'd been such a help. First with tracking down the 'Mothmen,' then rescuing Britta, and staying with the twins while she and her mom had went in search of Polly's body. He went above and beyond what anyone could have expected from him. But, he always had. He'd always given more than required. Was it strange, that solving this mystery together filled the void she'd been unsuccessfully trying to fill in her life since leaving Riverdale? She thought it was the mysteries, the cases, the serial killers which drove her…but what if it wasn't any one of those things. What if it was doing all that with Jughead? She shook her head it was too much to think on now.

Another hour passed before she was showered, pajamaed, and tucked into her childhood bed. (The same bed, which, for a brief period, had been theirs.) Her ears strained to hear minutest cry or whimper from the others in the house. Anything which might require her attention. Instead, all she heard was every creak of the house, every gust of wind at the window, every accusation of Polly's ghost.

Tossing and turning, Betty couldn't sleep. When she closed her eyes, all she saw Polly's body in the trunk of the car. Despite the start of decomposition, she recognized the signs of struggle—the cuts and contusions mottling her skin. This version of her sister was superimposed over the memory of the last time she'd seen Polly alive. She heard Polly's accusations from the last time they'd spoken in person. Polly in death was imprinted on her brain in indelible ink.

She and Polly used to be so close—before Jason and the twins, before the brainwashing and the cult, before the misunderstandings and distance. Their time had been cut too short and she had no one but herself to blame. She could have reached out earlier. She could have made amends, been more understanding, more present. Could have been less confrontational. Had her presence pushed Polly to the breaking point? Did Polly choose to go to the Lonely Highway and into danger because she wanted to get away from Betty?

Getting out of bed, Betty paced the hallway. The floorboards creaked and groaned under her frenetic footfalls. Every step felt like a thunderclap in the otherwise stilted silence. The last thing she wanted or needed was to wake the others. They needed the respite of a good night's sleep. So did she, but sleep evaded her. There was so much to do. They all depended on her. She couldn't fall apart. But, she didn't know if she could keep it together.

Betty had always figured she and Polly would reconcile someday. That there was time. That next time would be the right time. But, she'd been so wrong. There hadn't been time. There would be no more next times. One could never know when they'd run out of time.

A sob caught in her throat. She stuffed her fist against her mouth to keep from crying out and waking the others. She'd waited too long to make things right with her sister. She'd withheld forgiveness. Their fractured relationship would always be just that. Broken.

Polly wasn't the only one with whom she had a broken relationship. She wasn't the only one who Betty held at arm's length since her return to Riverdale. Would she continue to wait until it was too late?

She couldn't, she wouldn't lose him too.

It wasn't as much of a conscious thought as a compulsion to cross the street and knock on the door of the Andrew's garage.

Wrapped in his stripped robe, Jughead paced the span of the garage. His slippers slapped against the worn area rug with each step. He threaded an unlit cigarette between his fingers—up and over and back again. No matter what he tried, he couldn't sleep. Too much had happened these past few days. His entire world felt like it had upended again. He craved a drink to dull the pain in his head and in her heart, to still his whirring brain. But, he wouldn't let himself go there.

Jughead shivered and pulled the robe tighter around his shoulders. In a valiant, albeit futile effort to dispel the chill in the air, the space heater hummed. The garage was colder than the house, but Jug found the privacy worth any inconvenience the lack of amenities the garage offered. Archie had a savior complex a mile wide, and Jughead was certain he was beyond saving. Besides, he didn't want to be Archie's next project. Archie's projects had a tendency of falling to the wayside when the easily distracted 'hero' grew bored or the project failed to propel him immediately into the limelight.

Desperation had driven Jughead to ask Archie for a place to stay, though any former closeness between the two men had long since faded. These days they were more acquaintances than friends and Jughead had little desire to renew any sort of deeper friendship. While claiming Jughead was his best friend, Archie had never put the effort into maintaining that friendship. Out of sight, out of mind was Archie's modus operandi. Jug's return to Riverdale had more to do with Pop's retirement and the excuse to leave New York City behind. Seeing Betty again had been an unexpected bonus.

A knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts. Jughead hurried across the garage to open the door before whoever was outside froze to death. His heart raced in anticipation of the next round of bad news. In Riverdale, bad news didn't come it threes, it came as a never ceasing torrent. Though, he really couldn't blame it on Riverdale anymore. Maybe it was just him.

Opening the door, Jughead's heart caught in his chest. Betty Cooper stood barefoot and shivering on the doormat. Her blonde hair tumbled loose about her shoulders, still slightly damp from a recent shower. She wore pale blue pajama shorts with a matching short-sleeved button up pajama top. Her teeth chattered with the cold. Tears gathered in her red rimmed eyes and fell down her cheeks in glistening trails. He wanted to do nothing more than wrap her in his arms, but she'd asked him not to touch and he'd respect her wishes.

"Come in." He slipped out of the doorway making room for her to come in out of the cold.

As if the invitation initiated something, Betty hurried into the garage and threw herself into his open arms. Burying her face into his shoulder, she sobbed. She clutched at the back of his robe as though it were the only thing holding her together.

"Juggie," Betty breathed his name like it was something precious. Like it was something she had long denied herself and was only now allowing herself to indulge. His heart cracked open at the sound of his name on her lips. He missed being her Juggie.

Returning her embrace, he held her tight to his chest. He rested his cheek against her hair and breathed in her sweet lavender scent. At one time, she had fit in his embrace like they were made for each other. As the duration of their separation grew from months into years, he'd feared too much time had passed. That they would be all sharp angles and mismatched curves. But, his fears proved unfounded. They still fitted together. The still matched. Though they both bore the marks of new traumas and new burdens, their bodies melded together, accommodating each other.

With the familiarity of old friends and lovers, he tried to infuse every ounce of the love he still felt for her into the embrace. Even through the distance between them, he'd seen her. He'd seen as she suffered silently, holding in a pain which she wouldn't—couldn't—share. As she tirelessly sought to find her sister. He'd witnessed as she held it together by a thread while she supported her mother and niece and nephew. While everyone, but her, was allowed to fall apart. He knew Alice well enough to know Betty's mother wouldn't be grateful for all the effort Betty put into keeping things a semblance of normal. Betty would silently bear her mother's cutting remarks and scalpel sharp cruelty. When Betty's knees gave way and she sagged against him, he supported her, holding her closer and tighter. As long as he had the strength, he wouldn't let her fall.

When the ferocity of her sobs lessened and her body trembled with the cold and drain of emotion, he led her to the bed. It was the only somewhat comfortable place to sit in the garage. He wrapped her in blankets and only parted from her side long enough to boil water for tea.

Gratefully, she received the tea and sipped it in silence. When he sat beside her on the bed, she leaned into him and rested her head against his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she snuggled closer. Her breathing fell in time with his. All her carefully maintained guards were unraveling. Her walls were falling apart in a sign of trust and vulnerability she didn't share with just anybody. That she still felt safe enough with him to expose her vulnerabilities struck him to the core.

"Thanks," she murmured, breaking the long silence.

He squeezed her shoulder. "Anytime, Betts."

She stared into her mug as though trying to divine a message from the dregs. The silence stretched. With anyone else it would be uncomfortable, with Betty it felt natural. Just being with Betty felt as natural as breathing.

Exhaustion finally caught up with her. The empty mug tumbled from her fingers as her body fully relaxed against his. Her eyelids fluttered as they grew heavy. It wasn't long before she'd fallen into a deep sleep. Unwilling to disturb her, he tucked her into his bed. Then, lying on top of the covers, he curled around her and held her with her back to his chest.

What felt like the first time in over seven years, Jughead fell easily to sleep.

Betty didn't want to open her eyes when she finally awoke. If she just kept them closed, maybe she could fall into some sort of alternate dimension where nothing in the past few months has happened. Why limit herself to a few months, what about the last two years? Heck…there were days she wished the last seven years were nothing more than a fever dream.

There was so much to do. So much she didn't want to do. But, if she didn't, who would? There was the police, the FBI, funeral arrangements, Juniper and Dagwood's custody, and more she was certain she hadn't thought of yet…. It gave her a headache just thinking about the list. The only thing that could be said about it was that it might keep her busy enough to not think about everything else she was busy trying not to think about. Her mom would be no help. She knew that already.

Who was left? She'd left the FBI, so there would be no work support system she could turn to. Not that she ever truly connected with anyone there. The same could be said of the 'friends' she made during college. They were little more than ships passing in the night. And, these days her friends from high school were more like casual acquaintances than actual friends. She'd pushed them all the way…except…maybe…him?

Turning over onto her back, Betty frowned at the unfamiliar dip in the lumpy mattress. After putting the twins to bed, last night was a bit of a blur. She felt, drained, exposed, and vulnerable in a way she hadn't in ages. Waking up in an unfamiliar bed next to some strange guy wasn't exactly new. But, she hadn't done that since her last night with Glen. Riverdale was too small a town; everyone knew who she was. Sleeping with someone to forget your troubles didn't help when the only people to sleep with already knew your troubles. So, who was she sharing a bed with?

The warmth was familiar. So was the scent. Though now it was tinged with tobacco. It reminded her of home and comfort. With a sigh, Betty squinted into the morning light. Her eyelids grated over her eyes, scratchy and dry like they contained half the contents of the twins' sandbox. Once she banished the sleep and her vision cleared, she stared up at the ceiling of the Andrews' garage.

"Hey," his voice was warm and rich and, even now, thrilled her to the depths of her soul.

Juggie.

This had to be a dream. She hadn't woken up next to Jughead outside of a dream in seven years.

As she adjusted her position in bed to face him, the events of last night slowly seeped back into her memory. This wasn't a dream. When she hadn't been able to sleep, she sought him out. He'd welcomed her with open arms—both literally and figuratively. As she suspected, she had fallen apart at his touch. Her walls shattered to a million pieces, her masks split, and she was left raw and bleeding. And, though she was vulnerable and exposed, it didn't feel wrong. In the end, she must have felt safe enough to fall asleep.

Jughead sat up in bed, propped up against the wall and reading a paperback book. He still wore his striped bathrobe and his glasses. Despite the dark circles under his eyes and the haggard features on his face, he looked good.

"Hey," she croaked, her voice was slightly scratchy from the lack of use after sleep and the effusion of emotions from last night.

"Would you like some coffee? It's fresh. If you want food, we can either go out somewhere or order delivery. 'Fraid I don't have much here." Jughead ran his fingers through her hair which was splayed across the pillows like a halo.

"Coffee," she agreed groggily as she untangled from the sheets. A glance at the analog alarm clock had her bolting upright, more awake than she had been a moment before. "My mom…"

Jughead was already filling a mug with coffee from the carafe. "You don't need to worry. I sent Archie over to check on her and the twins. He's been going over about every fifteen minutes to make sure Alice doesn't burn the house down or whatever. Veronica sent over breakfast. Toni will be coming over to talk with the twins once she gets Anthony settled for the morning with Fangs. And, I called Tabitha to let her know I won't be in today. So, I am at your disposal for whatever you need. Your wish is my command."

Betty wrapped her hands around the mug. The heat seeped into her fingertips. Her hands shook, sloshing coffee over her hands and onto the blankets. "Wh-why would you do all that?"

Rescuing the mug from her trembling hands, he proceeded to gently clean the spill. "Betts, why wouldn't I? I mean, I know I've been a lousy friend for the past seven years, but I've never stopped caring about you…"

"Juggie," she reached out and brushed her fingers along his cheek. There was a prickling along his jaw that she wasn't quite used to. She couldn't help but think she could definitely get used to waking up to that.

"I didn't want you to wake up alone in a strange space." He cupped his hand over hers, holding it in place. "You've been through so much….It kills me that I wasn't there for you when you needed me…. I'm going to be here for you from now on."

Her heart raced at the thought. It had been so long since anyone was there for her instead of just wanting things from her. But…. With everything going on in her life, she couldn't give him what he deserved or needed. "Juggie, I can't. Not right now…"

"I know. I'm willing to wait. Just…I want you to know, I'm here for you. I want to be here. I want to help. And, when you're ready—if you're ready—I'll be here." He released her hand and raked his fingers through his hair. A rogue, inky curl fell across his forehead.

More than anything, she wanted to wrap her arms around him and kiss him senseless, but she hesitated. She needed a friend and a confidant. While she knew her Juggie could be all that for her and her lover as well, she didn't know if she could do the same for him. It had been a long time since she allowed sex to be anything other than an escape. It had become a coping mechanism to deal with (or, avoid dealing with) all her shit. She didn't want that with her Juggie. If—when—she made love to him again, it would be as his girlfriend.

Betty leaned against Jughead, taking refuge in his arms. The beating of his heart and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed lulled her into a relaxed state.

"Juggie," she said softly, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, Betts?" His words whispered across his ear.

"I keep thinking about Polly." There was a catch in her throat. He waited while she collected her thoughts and started again. "Looking for Polly—that was the first mystery we solved together. Back then, that time we spent together…it helped me realize that I loved—love—you."

He made a content humming sound which buzzed against the top of her head. "That time together, it gave me the courage to confess my love to you. To kiss you."

She brushed her fingers over her lips at the memory of that first kiss and the heated look in his eyes. Heat pinked her cheeks. She longed to have someone look at her like that again—like she mattered. So much had changed since those halcyon days of youth. And yet, at the same time, things remained the same.

"And then, after all this time, we come back to Riverdale. Broken and addicted and traumatized…And, the only time I feel remotely normal is when I'm with you. These last few days, when we were finally on the same page. Looking for Mothmen and Polly…I realized…I mean, I always knew. I just….I need to confess…" She swallowed hard, pushing on because if she didn't get this out she might just explode. "I still love you Juggie. I've never stopped loving you."

"I love you too." The admission was soft and potent, a balm to her soul.

"I need time."

"I know. And I will be here when you're ready," he assured her.

"Thank you." In the end, it was all she could say—thank you for being you, thank you for being here, thank you for giving me time, thank you for still loving me.

Even without all the words, he understood exactly what she meant.