Why are the weeks so tiring this month? We made it through this last one, though! Happy weekend!

Thanks so much for the review, Living Lucid Dream! That is a good analysis of Brand/Agent Sarah at the moment, and it made me laugh when you pointed out that Brand equated training and raising children (that sounds like him). We'll see what happens! It is definitely complicated, but nice that he's thinking things through, however it shakes out. And yay for Gunnar getting to be in the story more! Another not-so-simple situation, but he's got an arc in him. :) I also think I should put out a call for for stories of everyone's experiences at haunted anythings, because that was amazing. :-D I laughed quite a bit, and I do think that you summed up Brand's concern to a T. :-D And yes, my Kevin love remains strong. Recently, when I wonder how and why the stories are getting long, I try to remember how many awesome characters exist and need space to be so awesome. That's a pretty good excuse (that has nothing to do with self-indulgent editing). ;) The shooting is definitely not an open-and-shut case, I agree. And FP's relationship with the Serpents going beyond 'the FBI pays me to hang out with them' is definitely going to lead to hot water, but I think that was probably always coming for him and Jug. They haven't put all of that to rest, even after ST. I'll look forward to hearing your thoughts on this chapter! :)

Welcome, otakukitty345! That is amazing to hear, and I am so glad you're enjoying Brand's character and intend to keep on reading. :-D And oh man, the ideas for more stories may never end... so we'll see how it goes. :) Thank you so much for the note!

Enjoy!

-Button

00000

"So you were having a game night? With just the Serpents?" Jughead was helping Brand make baked oatmeal for breakfast on Sunday morning while he less than casually interrogated his father.

Sheriff Keller had come over the previous evening, and Brand's prediction that Jughead would not push for details when more pressing matters were at hand had proven accurate. Now that they'd all had a fitful night's sleep, however, the reprieve was obviously over.

So far FP's decision to opt for candor and to rely on Jughead's willingness to see the whole thing from his perspective seemed to be working, even though his matter-of-fact responses were clearly irritating his son.

In addition, the fact that this was not the first time they'd covered this ground suggested that Jughead was not yet entirely satisfied. Nobody was yelling, though, so both Brand and FP figured that was a promising improvement over the last time that the Serpents had come up unexpectedly.

"Yes, Jughead. I thought they could use a safe place and activity for an evening." FP was sitting at the kitchen table with his laptop, looking up companies that could replace their shattered windows. He and Brand had used duct tape and trash bags to slow the late October chill from coming into the house, but they needed to make a real repair right away.

"Can't you just call Mr. A?" Jughead gestured at the windows. "You are in the business, are you not?"

"I don't want to bother him." FP frowned.

"Are you fighting again?"

Clark had been standing in the middle of the kitchen, paging through a textbook while playing absently with Trigger, but he started to edge away as the conversation continued.

"No, we're not fighting, Jughead. Why would we be fighting?"

"I don't know. Why do you two ever fight?" Jughead's tone was disdainful. "Brand, we should add more cinnamon. This recipe is weak."

"More of the same doesn't always help. What about blackberries? Are any of those left?"

"Oooh, maybe." Jughead opened the fridge.

"We're not fighting," FP repeated. "He's just got a lot going on right now."

"He'll be mad if he finds out you didn't call him, Dad."

FP hesitated.

"You know I'm right," Jughead pressed. "Just call him. We won't tell him it was a drive-by shooting that happened while you were entertaining the Serpents. We'll just say that it was an attempt on Clark's life."

"Hey!" Clark tossed a tennis ball so that it bounced off of Jughead's shoulder.

"What? It's believable, and you'd get lots of sympathy." Jughead shrugged. "Who knows? It might even be true."

"Even so." Clark shook his head in disapproval.

"Hey, Brand?" Jughead's tone changed slightly as he leaned into his godfather's shoulder and looked up at him.

"No." Brand ruffled his hair. "Go set the table and cut it out with the puppy dog eyes."

"The what?" Jughead looked scandalized.

"You want something." Brand gave his godson a knowing look. "And I bet I know what. No dice. It's Sunday, so talk to your father."

FP watched this exchange with some confusion. "What?"

"The kid has something he wants to do, and he's mad at you so he's trying to recruit another playmate for whatever he has in mind." Brand gave Jughead another knowing look. "Am I close?"

"No," Jughead said defensively. "I was just going to invite you along. But if you're going to be like this-,"

"Shooting range?" Brand guessed.

"Clark, do you want to come?" Jughead turned to focus on the intern. "You know how to shoot, right?"

"Uh, I - well, Jones, maybe. I don't know-," Clark was looking nervously from FP to Brand as he tried to stutter out a noncommittal response that would keep him out of the conversation.

"Leave Clark here with me. Go with your dad and have fun," Brand ordered. "Want to train today, Clark? It seems like as good a time as any for it: you're receiving threats, and you just got dropped into the middle of a fairly violent household. We'll be training from time to time and you're welcome to join in, but I should really teach you some stuff first."

Clark lit up with relief and excitement. "Yes, sir!"

Jughead frowned at Brand, even though he recognized - and appreciated - that his godfather was attempting to respond to what he'd been told about Clark's reaction to the ongoing tension in the household. "I thought you wanted to spend 'quality time' with me."

"We're baking together right now. I went to your school dance last night. We're going to an amusement park later this week. Do you even hear yourself, kid? Let someone else play with your godfather for a few hours." Brand began folding blackberries into the oatmeal mixture. "FP, are you up for a trip to the range with your offspring?"

"Jug?" FP asked cautiously, not sure that he'd followed everything that had just happened in the conversation.

"Yeah, we can go, Dad." Jughead crossed his arms. "You know, unless you want to pick up a few other people on the way."

Ah. FP looked over at Brand, whose expression was projecting 'I told you so' as clearly as a lit marquee.

"Are you... jealous, Jughead?" FP asked the question in all seriousness, so he wasn't sure why Brand coughed loudly and made a slashing gesture across his throat - or why Jughead was suddenly glowering and turning away from him to focus on the baking, even though the pan was clearly ready for the oven at this point. "You know that it's totally different spending time with you, from-,"

"FP, for all our sakes, please stop digging that hole any deeper. Just take Jones shooting." Brand was rubbing his eyes and fighting laughter now. "And a word of advice: don't go downrange of the kid for a while."

Jughead swatted Brand's arm irritably, and was ready for his godfather when Brand jerked to retaliate.

"Nice block." Brand watched Jughead for any sign of a follow-up attack. "Are we done? Because we can take this downstairs."

Clark inched further out of the kitchen.

"We're done." Jughead turned and started carrying plates to the table. "No fighting while I'm setting the table, remember? Not that everyone feels bound by the ground rules of the household."

FP ran a hand through his hair. It seemed like he wasn't going to be able to win this morning, so he should probably just give in and call Fred already to ask for his recommendation about the windows. And then go to the range with Jughead and see if he could clear the air.

Fun times.

00000

"I hear you ladies had quite the triumph last night," Hermione Lodge sipped her coffee, but that did nothing to hide her proud smile. "It's no small thing to get the Northsiders and Southsiders into one room, even for something fun, and to have it go smoothly - and from what I heard, it was an event."

"You heard correctly. It really could not have gone better," Veronica declared with a smile. "Alice managed the lion's share of the troubleshooting since I was so busy with Archie and the performance, and she pulled it all off without a hitch."

Alice wasn't sure whether it would be more polite to be effusive about the event and their shared credit, or to downplay her role more modestly, so she tried to split the difference by nodding self-effacingly while smiling gratefully. "Veronica's performance with Archie and Melody was amazing, too. If anyone has footage, you should check it out, Hermione."

"Do you think they might?" Hermione looked very interested in that idea. "A little bird told me that you might have an encore performance coming up soon as well, so I'll definitely be rearranging my commitments to come see you sing."

Aha; the 'little bird' source of information on all counts must be Fred Andrews. Alice knew that there had been a lot of long hours for everyone on the administrative side at Andrew Construction, working through insurance and court case details, and it was not surprising in any way that social details made their way to Hermione quickly as well.

"There are no guarantees yet," Veronica cautioned, "but Archie thinks he'll hear more about that today. It sounded promising."

"Well, I for one think you've got it in the bag." This time Alice was entirely sure of what she wanted to say on the topic. "You were fantastic."

"There are a few pieces we'd have to figure out," Veronica raised one shoulder, but did not seem overly concerned by whatever those potential roadblocks might be. "I think Archie has some ideas for how to work it, though. He's taken on all of the logistics, which is a big step for him. And kind of a relief; I'm ready for a break from planning."

"We do need to start planning the next mixer, though," Alice reminded her with a smile. "Do you want me to take point on brainstorming ideas?"

Veronica looked surprised and gratified. "Absolutely. That would be a huge help, Alice; thanks. As long as you won't be too busy sorting out… other things." Veronica gave Alice a meaningful look and a sly smile.

"Oh, no. Not you too."

"Oh, it is not just me. That was majorly public." Veronica's words were teasing, but she looked a little uneasy when Alice's response was not immediately positive. "Sorry; should I not have brought it up?"

Hermione leaned forward slightly and was obviously curious, but to her credit she did not press - or even inquire.

Alice had come to really respect and admire Veronica's mother, particularly in moments such as these when Hermione exuded class and restraint, but was still warm and present. It was a fine line to walk, but once Alice had adjusted more fully to the household she'd begun to notice and appreciate how much time and effort Hermione devoted to managing the balancing act with both Veronica and Alice.

So, what the heck: "There are these two guys, Hermione," Alice confessed. "One I like, but he's possibly got even more baggage than I do, which is really saying something. The other I…" Alice wasn't sure what the right wording was, "probably could like? But I don't know him as well, and the two of them are pretty much polar opposites and sworn enemies, so getting to know him is…"

Wow. Saying any of that aloud made it sound so much more complicated than it had seemed in her head even just moments ago. All of Alice's conflicted, confused feelings suddenly made a lot more sense when the situation was laid out so starkly.

Hermione was making a deeply sympathetic face, too, so it wasn't just Alice having that reaction.

"It's a Southside Serpent and a non-Serpent Southsider whose uncle was literally murdered by a Serpent, like, a million years ago." Veronica had a knack for cutting to the heart of any issue. "So Alice would normally just get to know both of them and make a decision, and they have been remarkably civil all things considered, but the tension is just… there. All the time. And good luck sorting out what is tension that's working its way toward a rumble - or whatever those boys do when they're not being supervised - and what tension is the good kind."

"Basically." Alice had to smile; counterintuitively, Veronica's frank insights on how complicated it was served to make the whole situation clearer in her own mind. "And, because I already know that I like Sweet Pea - the Serpent -, that makes it a challenge to even get to know Gunnar at all, since it's so messy. I'm not looking to mess anything up, or make it dramatic for no reason."

"Except Sweet Pea bailed way early last night and Gunnar was very attentive in his absence, so now everyone knows that there's competition," Veronica finished the story.

"Oh, Alice. That really does sound messy," Hermione's sympathy was so sincere that Alice wondered if she'd ever experienced a similar situation. "I... would not presume to advise you. Except - just the tiniest voice of experience - to suggest that you do find a way to get to know both. Alternatives to dating a Southside Serpent are never a bad thing. In fact, it seems like you might already agree with me on that."

Alice figured that was not a bad way of saying it. And it was a relief getting Hermione's input, hesitant as she was to give it. Alice had come to appreciate Jughead's friendship immensely over the past eight months or so, but she had always preferred girl talk for this reason: analysis could sometimes lead to overthinking and unnecessary problems, but it could just as often yield a second set of perspectives and opinions that helped her to cut through all of the mess that seemed permanently to reside in her own head.

"Yeah, that's more or less where I'm at. While the Serpents are going through a lot of changes, and I don't want to condemn them out of hand, I-," Alice felt her stomach drop as the words came to her. "I guess I never want to end up in the position my mother was in."

There it was.

Veronica gave her a supportive look, and Hermione didn't so much as blink at the mention of her parents, which was a relief. But when breakfast was a whole lot quieter after that declaration, Alice also appreciated the respectful space.

This was heavy stuff, and all of the fun times in the world were not going to erase the reality she lived with. And suddenly, for the first time in months, Alice wondered what the process might be for visiting her parents in prison.

Maybe it was time to start moving forward, at least with that first step.

00000

Jughead was not entirely sure why his dad didn't understand how annoying it was to come home and find the house full of people - and his father secretly hanging out with the Serpents.

They'd almost all looked like they were around his age, which actually bugged him most of all - and that part confused Jughead. If it had been one of the bikers who had threatened him, or one of the Serpents he'd fought in the back of the van after the carjacking, that would objectively have been worse.

But after years of losing out again and again to the Serpents, of seeing FP walk away from him and their life together to be with his chosen family - his gang -, there was something viscerally painful about having his dad do that now. In their new house. And with kids from his own highschool, no less.

And so Jughead stared out the window of the car, trying to wrap his head around what was bothering him so much, while FP tried to make small talk on the way to the shooting range.

"We're going to have to make a plan for the amusement park, because I'd like to spend at least some of the day with you, Jug." FP was splitting his focus between driving and eyeing Jughead. "It doesn't have to be a big chunk of time, even though Brandon should be kept busy with everyone from the RA. I know Betty will be there, and Fred's already got big plans for what he wants to do. But I haven't gone with you before, and I thought it might be fun to-,"

"You know what? Don't stress yourself, Dad. Just take... Joaquin." Jughead heard his own petulant tone and wanted to cringe. Instead of meeting his dad's eyes and taking back his words, though, he doubled down and tried to sound more angry and less sulky: "Or Sweet Pea or Fangs, or whoever else you think would be more your speed."

"I'm not looking to spend time with someone 'my speed,' whatever you mean by that." FP frowned. "I thought you might be interested in spending some 'quality time' with me, and not just with Brandon. Look, I know you're upset that I didn't tell you about last night's plan, but I only wanted-,"

"I'm not." Jughead tried to form his conflicting thoughts into some kind of a unified perspective that would make sense to FP. And to himself. "I just… didn't know that you wanted to spend time with them. Without me. It's fine; I get it. I'm - I don't know, different from you. And from them. You and I don't really have a whole lot in common."

"Yes, we do." FP's strenuous objection was immediate.

"Like what?" Jughead laughed bitterly. "I don't drink, I don't even know how to ride a motorcycle, and I'm not in your gang. I don't like loud music anymore and I suck at pool. I like to read and write and cook, and you don't. Even my sense of humor's all wrong."

"Hey. You're a funny kid. And you seem to forget that I don't drink either. And I read. I can cook." FP pulled into the parking lot of the shooting range and began marshaling his own list. "We both work with the FBI, and we've both worked with Andrews Construction. We have a lot of other experiences in common, too - not the least of which is living with that godfather of yours, if you want to talk about someone who truly does have a sense of humor that's all wrong."

FP looked over to see if Jughead cracked a smile at that, but his son's expression did not waver.

"You're tough and stubborn, like your old man. I can't help it that you're a whole lot smarter than I am, and that I want better for you than to fall in with some people that - you got me here, I'll admit - I want to see turn out all right. I want them to get out of the Southside every once in a while and see other ways of living. But I don't want you to get mixed up in any of that. Never again. You're too important to me, Jughead."

Jughead wrapped his arms around his midsection and looked away.

"You feeling all right?" FP parked and unbuckled his seatbelt. "Need a pill? I know you've been trying to get off of those, but if you're hurting-,"

"I haven't needed a pill in almost a week." Jughead scoffed at the idea and turned to face FP again. "Are you even paying attention? Brand knows. He's been, like, counting my pills to make sure I don't get hooked."

"Well, maybe that's because I trust you a little more than he does." FP wasn't sure that his sharp reply was a wise gambit with Jughead in his current mood, but having Brandon comparisons thrown in his face was always more irritating than it should be. "Maybe I don't monitor you as closely because I operate from the assumption that you've got things under control."

"Is that how you justify things?" Jughead wasn't even sure what he meant as he spat the words at his father. Brand's angry rant about him dredging up ancient history whenever he got upset flashed through his mind, and suddenly it seemed important to make sure that he wasn't doing that now. "I don't mean - um, I only mean last night. Not… anything else."

FP opened his car door and climbed out wearily, a bone-deep sadness suddenly radiating from his posture. "Sure you do, Jug. And it's allowed. I should have been there with you a lot more for a lot of years."

"No. That's not what I'm talking about. I'm not even sure why I'm so mad." Jughead climbed out quickly after his dad. The conversation had somehow reversed to him trying to reassure his father, and for some reason that stung as well.

"I didn't mean anything other than just… you didn't tell me what was going on. The first I knew of your game night was when I got thrown on top of Toni, there were bullet holes and broken windows, and everyone was staring at me - and they all thought I knew they'd be there. Because they couldn't possibly realize that they know my dad better than I do."

"No, they don't." FP spoke quickly, but he was clearly turning over the idea in his mind with a troubled expression.

"Are you sure? Because I'm not." Jughead gave his father a challenging look and then turned to lead FP into the building.

Maybe the shooting range hadn't been a good idea, Jughead reflected when he heard shots being fired and his first instinct was to flinch. Or maybe this would help him to calm down and reacclimate to the safe use of firearms.

Jughead pushed the heavy outer door to the building open, holding it for FP without looking back at his father.

A moment later, when FP was barreling into him and shoving him further into the building, Jughead's first thought was of déjà vu from the night before.

Only his dad's aim sucked, and the outer door swung back too quickly and cracked sickeningly against something hard.

Then Jughead was grimacing and wiping off whatever his dad had smeared across the side of his face while grabbing him in a bear hug from behind.

FP pushed Jughead down so that he was a smaller target and hustled him the rest of the way through the second set of doors into the range.

"What are you-," Jughead found himself staring in shock at a hand that was blood-red from where he'd wiped it across his own face, and it started to click. "You're bleeding."

Jughead twisted in his father's grip to look at him.

"I... don't think they were aiming for Clark last night, Jughead." FP sat down heavily on the floor and leaned against the wall. Blood was streaming down the side of his head.

A man behind the counter was already on the phone, and another range employee dashed over to see how badly FP was hurt.

"Did someone shoot you?" Jughead heard himself getting frantic. "Is it bad?"

FP released Jughead so that he could clamp his right hand over his left bicep. "I can't tell. I hit my head coming through the door, so maybe that's what's bleeding all over. It might just be a graze. It hurts, but that doesn't mean much."

Jughead fumbled for his phone.

"The cops are already coming. And an ambulance." The employee was still on the phone, but he nodded to Jughead and then waved a box at him. When he was sure that he had Jughead's attention, he tossed it to him. "First aid. Try to stop the bleeding from his head first. If his arm is bad, don't do anything crazy like tourniquet him. Stephanie will help, and I'll take a look in a minute."

Jughead opened the box gratefully. "Can you get your jacket off, Dad?"

FP was wearing a leather jacket that he'd picked up for when he took his bike out and didn't want to wear his Serpents gear.

"Yeah, sure, but give me a second, Jug. I'm a little dizzy, so-,"

"Dad," Jughead's voice was agonized. "Stay with me. Please. I'm-,"

"I said I'm dizzy. Not dying." FP smiled weakly. "If I hadn't hit my head on the door, I might not even be that. Have you found something in there that you can hold against my head? You're going to need to press down real hard, boy."

"Yeah." Jughead held up a thick bandage from the first aid kit. He gingerly lined it up over the large laceration on the side of FP's head.

"You're gonna have to press down a lot harder than that. You want to stop the bleeding, not just mop up the blood."

Jughead pushed harder, and when his father screwed his eyes shut in pain he winced sympathetically. "Better?"

"Good. Hold that with both hands. Stephanie, can you help me with my jacket and see what's going on under there?" FP addressed the employee who had come over to assist them.

The woman nodded, even though FP's eyes were closed, and she began to work the leather jacket off of his shoulders.

The man behind the counter had been joined by a number of other people - some who worked there and some who didn't. It suddenly occurred to Jughead that he had no idea who had fired the shots, which direction - or distance - they'd been coming from, or whether there might be someone around right at this very moment, looking for an opportunity to finish the job. He angled his body so that he was almost completely blocking his father from view.

The woman got the jacket off and slid FP's T-shirt sleeve up. His arm was bleeding, but it did look like a graze.

"It doesn't look too bad." Jughead realized he was releasing the pressure on his dad's head in his relief, and he quickly focused on his job again.

"Your jacket will need a good cleaning, but it's got a real obvious bullet hole. Sweet." Stephanie was clearly trying to cheer them up, and FP smiled appreciatively without opening his eyes.

"You still doing okay, Dad?" Jughead moved a little closer to him.

"I'm better now that I know it's my hard head doing all the bleeding, yeah." FP opened his eyes and squinted painfully at Jughead. "Once the ambulance is here and someone takes over for you, call Brandon. I want him with you before we leave the building. Wash my blood off your face before he gets here, though; you look like you're the one who's hurt and I don't need Brandon going off half-cocked about that."

Jughead nodded silently.

"I can call someone for you." Stephanie was still crouching beside them, wiping up the much-slower bleeding from FP's arm. "Got a number, or do I need to use your cell?"

Jughead rattled off Brand's number, and was grateful when the woman simply dialed it and then held her phone up to his right ear.

"Brand, you need to come to the range." Jughead figured his godfather would figure out who was calling quickly enough. "Dad's been shot."

"Wow, Trip. I was only kidding about him not going downrange from-,"

"I'm trying to stop the bleeding. Come quick."

"On my way, kid." The phone went dead.

00000

Brand was fast, and arrived only just behind the ambulance - which was helpful, because FP was refusing to let Jughead leave the building until his godfather arrived.

"Dad, you have to go, and I'm coming with you. There's police here; nothing will-,"

"If it was a sniper, we have no idea if you were the target and I got in the way." FP had come up with a few new theories in the interim. "Brandon will put his thick skull and massive ego between you and any danger, and then you can leave the building. Not before."

When Brand appeared just in time to hear FP's words, both of the Joneses were relieved. Brand didn't quite knock the paramedic out of the way, but that was only because the man who had taken over for Jughead made space in a hurry for him to confirm that FP was stable.

"A headshot? Huh. You are one lucky guy, FP. And if my ego could stop bullets, the world would be a very safe place." Despite the joke, Brand seemed to need a moment to collect himself.

"It wasn't a headshot, Brandon. I cracked my head open on the door. My arm was just barely grazed." FP reached to pat Brand's shoulder reassuringly with his uninjured right arm. "Thanks for coming."

"Of course I came. And I'm pretty sure that nobody's shooting at Jones." Brand frowned as he thought through the implications of this attack and the previous evening's shooting. "Although you two resemble each other enough that we're not taking chances on an accidental assassination either. Can't anyone get that ambulance a little closer to the doors? I'm not liking this setup."

Brand saw Jughead react to his words and reached for him. The teen accepted an arm around his shoulders since his godfather made no attempt to move him away from where he was still crouched by his dad's side.

"He's going to be okay, Jones. We'll make sure of it. Do you think someone put out a hit on you, FP?" Brand began speculating. "If that is the case, we're lucky they seem to have gotten stormtroopers straight off of the death star, huh, kid?"

Jughead glared in reply and started to shrug Brand's arm off of himself.

"Hey; I'm taking this seriously." Brand tightened his grip on Jughead. "But you need to stay calm so that we don't end up with another patient. We're not going to let anyone get a second clear shot at your dad."

"Third," Jughead corrected him darkly.

"Or a third," Brand conceded the point without argument.

"A hit, Brandon? Why would anyone put a hit out on me?" FP made a face. The paramedics lifted him onto a gurney for transport. "This has to be connected to last night, though. We should run ballistics, and-,"

"We?" Brand laughed. "The cops will do their thing, FP. I'll have to ask at the RA about whether I'm even allowed to assist, although that's probably just a matter of getting it cleared. You are going to the hospital, and Jones is going to stay there with you. Clark's in my car-,"

Jughead gave him a suspicious look and cleared his throat.

"Clark is waiting in Jones' car, which I have borrowed, and he and I will oversee things once you two are situated and comfortable at Riverdale General."

"Call Agent Sarah too," Jughead suggested.

"Agent Quinn will want to help, yes," Brand agreed and corrected his godson in one breath. "I bet you'll even get some of those homemade eclairs you were angling for the other night, FP."

FP smiled at that thought as he was wheeled through the doors. "Hey, is that-," he pointed out something on the outer door as they exited the building.

"Now that is disgusting," Brand made a face at the chunk of scalp and hair that FP had left behind on the metal door.

Jughead was making an even more pained face.

"Oh man, don't look, Jones. Come on, up and in with your father. I'll meet you at the hospital." Brand wrapped his arms protectively around Jughead to bring him the few feet from door to ambulance behind FP's gurney, which was smoothly hefted into the back of the ambulance.

Brand hoisted Jughead up as well, ignoring the looks he got as he did so - the most scathing coming from Jughead himself. "Give me a break. You scared me half to death with that call, and I may never come down from the adrenaline."

Jughead grimaced more than smiled, and Brand patted his arm once before getting clear of the doors.

00000

Betty watched Agent Quinn yet again demonstrate a secure stance and a few basic tricks for posture and balance.

It seemed like they might need the full few weeks to work up to anything exciting.

"Mastering these basics will pay off sooner than you can imagine. But don't worry; I'll teach you some fun things today so you have more to practice this week." Agent Quinn could apparently read minds, too.

They continued to train together for another hour, and Betty felt herself warm up - and then began to feel herself sweating as her muscles protested against the unfamiliar movements. She ran regularly and considered herself an athlete, but this was one more reminder not only that every sport and activity brought something a little different to the table, but also of how much she had to learn about Jughead's life with Brand.

This seemed like a window into what it had felt like for Jughead during those first few months of learning Krav.

Except that somehow it seemed unlikely that Brand had spent much time on proper stance or balance.

But they'd get there, and maybe Betty would even find that she had an advantage over Jughead because of this mastery of the basics.

"You are very good at mimicking movement; that's excellent work, Betty," Agent Quinn praised her as they stretched at the end of their time training together. "I'm going to send you some videos this week, too, so you can see some variations, and maybe next week I can teach you some tricks that will surprise Jughead."

"That sounds good." Betty grinned. This was more like it.

"Oh, speak of the devil," Agent Quinn picked up her phone when it began buzzing. "It's Brand. He probably wants to spy on our session. Same time next week?"

"Absolutely." Betty nodded and mouthed her thanks to Agent Quinn as she turned to get her belongings and leave while the agent answered her phone.

"What?" Agent Quinn's raised voice startled Betty. "Hang on; are you okay? You didn't leave them alone, did you? Do I need to bring anything?"

Betty grabbed her workout bag and hurried to give Agent Quinn privacy; that sounded like a work-related call, and it sounded bad.

The last thing Betty heard Agent Quinn say was very odd: "What do you mean, bring eclairs? If this turns out to be some kind of a sick prank, you are a dead man, Brandon Davies."

Betty had never known Brand to be much for pranks (with the notable exception of the Michigan shenanigans with the climbing gear), but that did sound very weird. She closed the door behind herself with a shake of her head. Maybe Jughead would fill her in later.

00000

The ramp-up is real! I hope you enjoyed, and as always I'll look forward to your notes - of all lengths and level of detail, with (admittedly) particular love of your analysis and thoughts. :)

Thanks for reading! I hope you have a wonderful weekend!

-Button