We made it through another week! And here's another chapter... :-D
Living Lucid Dream, I loved your gushing over Clark and Trig so much! Of all the folks coming into their own in a big way, I think they're contenders for the most profound growth. :) And I'm so glad that Williams' development makes sense, and that her line worked as well for you as it did in my head! :-D Thank you also for the lovely compliment about tying the Toronto narratives together. The story is eventually going to end (I'm seeing the end game clearly now!), but I hate one-paragraph epilogues that begin "five years later..." or whatnot; I prefer that loose ends be addressed satisfactorily, which could maybe sort of possibly be a bit too much (but we'll see!). Thanks so much for the feedback that, at least so far, that is working and not feeling like it's dragging. May it continue in that way as we finish the series off!
Skyrider45, oh man the mental image of Clark in the canon makes me grin; he has become one of the most fun characters to write, and I would enjoy seeing the actors bring the story to life (woo-hoo!). Also, casting Clark would be amazingly fun (though the idea of casting someone to play Brand makes my head hurt... :-D). By the way, I'm loving everyone's instincts at this point in the series, because the guesses are so good. Gunnar surrounded by Serpents and feeling like a cat in a bath is a great image, 'are these cops legit?' is a totally fair question at this point, and of course - it is very wise to keep an eye out for red tape and lingering threats since they do tend to come back and haunt us. I'm working through them and I sincerely hope that I at least catch the important ones in our final chapters! I am so glad you liked Williams' line, too - I always worry when I like something a little too much, so that was reassuring to hear. :) You are so welcome, too; thanks again for reading and reviewing so faithfully. It's such an encouragement as we get closer and closer to the end!
Enjoy!
-Button
00000
Max was sitting in the back of the car, right where he'd been left, and Clark waved as he approached with Jughead's belongings and two dogs.
There was no return wave.
"Hey," Clark opened the back door when the locks clicked open, and slid in alongside Max. He swiped the child locks off so that he could close the door without trapping them both inside. "You doing okay? Did anyone come near you?"
That was when Max noticed what Clark was holding. "Whoa. Where did you get a puppy?"
"It's Jughead's. I have no clue how he got her, but I guess we're taking her home."
Max's face had lit up for a few moments, but by the time Clark had shifted to offer the puppy to him he was frowning and shaking his head.
"You're seriously turning down this little face?" Clark asked teasingly, holding up the pup's muzzle toward Max. "This might be the cutest German Shepherd I've ever seen."
"But it's Jughead's, right?" Max's tone was cool. "He has another dog now?"
"I'm sure there will be negotiations, but I kind of can't picture anyone telling him no."
"Huh. Me neither." Max's tone became still darker. "He really does get everything."
Oh. Clark was suddenly struck by how this must look. The world had basically ground to a halt for Jones. While the bust had always been the plan, it probably seemed to Max as though three armies had mobilized for just one teenager - and Max knew from painfully real experience that the same had not been done for him.
"Max, you do know that the FBI is going to protect you, right? Make sure you go somewhere stable, and follow up so that nothing bad happens?" Clark wasn't sure he could guarantee anything specific, but that seemed like the bare minimum that the FBI would ensure when they transferred his case after debriefing.
"Sure. Stable. Okay." Max's tone radiated sarcasm. "I won't have Trigger, and I won't get a pup-,"
Before Max could quite manage the word 'puppy,' he clammed up and turned his head away. Clark tried not to look too closely at him; it sounded like he was getting emotional and his body language was screaming for privacy.
"I don't know what things will look like, Max. But I do think that things like that happen one step at a time. It might take years, but eventually you could have a whole family of your own. Get a puppy even. And... I think Jones knows that he's pretty lucky. He tends to share when he can, and I think he wouldn't mind sharing Trig and this little girl with you." Clark wasn't sure that this was comforting in the slightest, but he felt compelled to defend his wingman. "You know, he shares Trigger and Special Agent Davies with me quite a bit."
"I don't want to share Brand. He's a jerk."
"See? You already want something different. Something all your own. I think you'll get there, too, even though I couldn't tell you when that might be."
Max did not react for a few seconds. Then he reached a hand over without looking up. The gesture was sullen and petulant, and for a moment Clark wasn't sure what he was doing.
"Well? Can I hold her or not?" Max demanded.
"Oh! Yeah. Here you go." Clark handed the puppy over, relieved that Max was relenting even a little bit. It was a start.
"What's her name?"
"You know what? She doesn't have one yet, and I hear that Jones is in the market for suggestions. Is that something you're any good at?" Clark wasn't sure that this was a wise gambit, but he'd see what happened and take it as it came.
"I might be. But if I name her, that means she's part mine." Max looked over then. "It can be, like, ten percent and she'll live with Jughead. But it means I get to visit sometimes."
"Um, I think that depends on how good the name is," Clark hedged.
"Challenge accepted." Max smiled when he saw Clark's startled reaction to his words. "You get to be the one to tell Jughead and FP about the deal, too."
"Hmmm. You drive a hard bargain, Max. We'll see." Clark smiled back, though.
Hopefully FP wouldn't kill him for opening this door to Jones and Max remaining in touch.
"What's your name, huh?" Max spoke to the puppy - and laughed when his warm tone drew Trigger's attention to the newcomer in the car and the much larger dog suddenly climbed halfway into Max's lap to get a better view of the puppy. "Trig, this is your sister. Or girlfriend, maybe, but that's kind of a creepy age difference, so hold your horses on that."
Clark relaxed as Max relaxed.
A few minutes later, both were startled when Agent Quinn knocked on a window to announce her arrival and then slid into the driver's seat.
"I heard what happened, Clark," Agent Quinn said brusquely, her eyes holding Clark's as she nodded toward Max to make it clear that the teenager should not be told anything about what had transpired in Rose's mansion. "You have two major reams of paperwork ahead of you, so don't expect to be getting sleep anytime soon."
"Yes, Agent Quinn." Clark ducked his head. It was starting to seem like the sun might be coming up soon, and he was tired enough that he wasn't sure he could come up with much more of a response on such a fraught topic.
"Do you have your documents on you right now? Passport and all of that?" Agent Quinn rested her hands on the steering wheel and turned a second time to make eye contact with Clark, who nodded. "We'll need it to make the hiring process official; SAC Wilson would like us to do that before you begin working on any of the reports about Rose."
"What?" Clark's jaw dropped.
"Wilson's on her way right now. We've got some very complicated international issues arising with Brand and Jughead. Joaquin DeSantos is right over there-," Sarah pointed, "-with his underage boyfriend whom he ran away with across an international border - a boyfriend whose father is an American sheriff who is driving here right now. And is that a puppy you've got back there?" Agent Quinn did not wait for an answer. "That just figures. We need to get anything and everything under control that we can, and it's your lucky day because that includes your actions, Clark. It was Wilson's idea to get your hiring finalized so it was at least in the system first, for whatever that's worth."
"If the puppy is a problem, you can tell people that she's mine," Max offered. "What happened to Rose?"
Clark tapped Max's shoulder chidingly. "You can't keep the puppy. And nothing happened."
"Just trying to help out the FBI." Max grinned. "What, did you shoot him? Because that would be awesome."
When Clark froze, Agent Quinn cleared her throat loudly.
"Wait, he's dead?" Max lit up. "You killed him, Clark?"
"No!" Clark shook his head emphatically. "Where do you even - how do you come up with this stuff?"
Max looked suspiciously from Clark to Agent Quinn. "I have to come up with stuff. You all keep lying to me."
"Well, we're not lying now." Clark sighed. "Nobody's dead."
"Dang it." Max went back to focusing on the puppy he was patting. "You should have killed him."
"Max," Agent Quinn spoke up from the front seat, "let's hold off on saying things like that. And let's get you back to the apartment to get some sleep while the rest of us work. Do you think you could puppy-sit for the night?"
"If you can afford my hourly rate, then sure."
Clark rolled his eyes.
"You know, it just so happens that we've budgeted for a few expenses, Max." Agent Quinn smiled at him. "I might like a discount since you'll both be getting some sleep, though."
Max considered this. "Done. I'll only charge you ten bucks an hour. Plus expenses."
"What do you mean, expenses?" Clark eyed him curiously.
"You know, snacks for me. Puppy food. Expenses." Max gave Clark a disdainful look. "You must suck at negotiating. Maybe you should let me read your contract before you sign anything."
Clark laughed. "You know what? Maybe I should."
00000
FP figured that he was being vindicated in some ways, but unfortunately he would much rather have been left looking like he'd been terribly off base - foolish - in the spring with his accusations about Brandon's previous doings in Toronto.
He was currently riding along in a police vehicle with an older, very kindly officer named Logan up front with him and Jughead and Brandon still cuffed in the back. Logan had volunteered to drive them, and that offer had been met with enthusiasm - both from the Toronto law enforcement and from FP, since the officer reminded him quite a bit of Tim.
Who was probably wondering why in the world FP had disappeared. He should probably make a phone call at some point.
Logan's calming demeanor was helpful, and he'd been very reassuring and friendly while things had continued to deescelate, but they were not out of the woods yet: FP had not missed when Jughead silently asked his godfather if they should break out of the cuffs, and Brandon had given him a horrified look - and then begun talking Jug through what was going to happen next, to prepare him and hopefully head off the next crazy idea.
Which was when Logan chimed in gently: "Well. We know a little too much about you and your son for that to be the plan."
When Brandon froze, FP's heart sank.
"Uh... this is my godson," Brandon corrected. "You're sitting next to his father."
"I see. We didn't receive any information about you, sir." The officer glanced at FP. "But I imagine you'll have some questions to answer. From what I understand, the paperwork we were sent on Jonas and Brandon checked out, though; it's legitimate."
"Is that so?" FP kept his voice level, but turned awkwardly in his seat to glare at Brandon. Nice cop or not, Brandon needed to keep his mouth shut while he and Jughead were under arrest. "And the odds that the felons you just arrested sent an information dump as a malicious 'parting gift' are what, one hundred percent?"
"To be honest, it doesn't always matter who sends the information or why. And what kind of criminal could get identity paperwork like that legitimized?" The officer was still speaking kindly, but now his tone was bordering on dismissive. "We're going to investigate, of course, but that much seems to be in order. It would take a conspiracy theorist to think otherwise."
"Or could it take a conspiracy to make it appear otherwise?" FP asked pointedly.
"Involving those levels of government?" Logan gave him a pitying smile and shake of his head. "I don't think you're bad people. You seem nice enough to me. But you can give up the act, sir. I can't be saying too much, but we've got these two dead to rights and I'd hate to see you enmeshed in their case unnecessarily."
"Brand," Jughead whispered. FP gave him a sharp look, and when he was ignored he could only hope that the officer could not hear his son. "Do they think I'm Jonas? Does that mean they think I'm over eighteen... and do they really think that I killed someone?"
Brandon shot FP a helpless look that clearly conveyed that he didn't have the heart to leave Jughead hanging. He leaned closer to the teenager to whisper back. "Look, the fake paperwork job was probably a little too good, and I'm betting Rose beefed it up somehow. That was probably his insurance in case we escaped, since this is the sort of thing that would buy him time to disappear. That means we just have to wait this out; our real paperwork is better. Much more legit."
"How long will that take?" Jughead's eyes were widening. "What happens until then?"
"Eh, a few hours. Nothing much can happen that quickly." Brand shrugged, feigning nonchalance.
The look he gave FP was a lot less confident.
And FP could see that Jughead had not missed Brandon giving him that look either. Great.
"I'm going to make a call real quick here," FP said. He gave Brandon and Jughead a quelling look so that they'd stop whispering together. They looked back at him with a matched set of overly innocent expressions, and FP set his jaw in frustration. "Mary Andrews might be able to fly up from Chicago to make sure things go smoothly from a legal standpoint. Just to be on the safe side."
"Good call. It probably is time to lawyer up." Logan was focused on driving, but he nodded to FP.
FP frowned with new resolve when he heard that, and he hit Mary's number in his phone.
00000
Sheriff Keller's latest frustrated call had Fred Andrews rousing everyone from bed. He led them all downstairs to the large dining room and directed the teens to sit while he and Mary stood to confront them.
"Okay. Who else knows anything about Joaquin and Kevin, and where they planned to go after the 'motorcycle ride'?" Fred asked. "Sheriff Keller is driving up to Toronto right now with a retired officer, and apparently Joaquin and Kevin gave both the FBI and the Toronto police the slip."
Archie looked confused. "They're coming here, Dad. Didn't I already tell you that?"
Maybe he had. The night was already becoming a blur to Fred. But he was not sure, and he suspected that he would have remembered that minor detail. "Really, Archie?"
Mary's cell phone began to ring, and she silenced it with an irritated expression. "It's awfully early for phone calls."
"I think you'd better take that, Mary," Fred made a face. "It might be a related emergency."
"Oh. That's true; I was just thinking that all of this was the most pressing situation-," Mary took the call before it went to voicemail. "Hello?"
There were a few moments of silence on their end while Mary listened before she continued.
"FP? No, that's not a problem. I'm actually in Toronto now. Where should I meet you?"
Fred's eyebrows shot up; the teens began chattering loudly around the dining room table; and Betty sprang up to approach Mary, most likely to try and overhear FP's side of the conversation.
"Uh-huh." Mary looked confused and worried. "I'll come right away. Don't let them talk to anyone until I get there."
Archie made a face as his mother hung up the phone. "Is it medical malpractice? Jughead cannot catch a break. Can I come?"
"Fred." Mary gestured helplessly.
It was apparently not medical malpractice.
"All right!" Fred clapped his hands together once, redirecting everyone's attention. "There's not a lot of information yet, but we're going to need breakfast and coffee. Mrs. Andrews needs to go find out what is going on, and we need to be ready for when Sheriff Keller arrives - and Joaquin and Kevin. Who's up for cooking, and who wants to set the table? I'll need someone to Google a bakery, too."
"No need," Alice said. "There's a great one just a few blocks away. I used to live here part time, remember?"
"Yes. That's right." Fred nodded, feeling even more disoriented because he'd momentarily forgotten that. Not that he'd ever completely forget when FP had barged in the front door of this house and violently accosted her father. Fred shook off the vivid memory. "Coffee first, I think. Sounds good. Let's go."
The teens exchanged glances while filing into the kitchen. Fred pulled Mary aside to whisper swiftly.
"Where are they?"
"They're in jail. Something is very wrong with Brandon and Jughead's passports, and FP thinks they might need legal representation to get it straightened out."
"That doesn't make any sense-,"
"I know. But Joaquin's in town, the Serpents are making moves, and you said yourself that those three seemed to be involved in something to do with a kidnapping and the FBI." Mary raised her eyebrows. "I only got the phone version of events. This might be serious."
Fred nodded. "You go. Call me if I can help, but my current plan is to keep the kids occupied and to get Kevin back to Tom. And, secondarily, to get Joaquin back to the FBI before anyone realizes he's an easy target right now."
"If I'm right, you'll be able to call me and reach the FBI," Mary reminded Fred. "I'll let them know that Joaquin is probably headed here."
"Great. Thanks." Fred walked Mary to the front door.
"Save me some breakfast." Mary smiled. "With a little luck it might not even be cold by the time I get back."
00000
Hours later, Mary Andrews, Sarah Quinn, and Mark Patton, the Toronto-based solicitor that the FBI had a relationship with, pored over copies of the paperwork that they'd been furnished by the local police.
It was honestly pretty shocking, even leaving aside the obvious lies and embellishments.
"Huh." Sarah massaged her forehead wearily. "This... explains a lot."
"This is why they're in holding cells, yes," Mark agreed easily. "It's wildly over the top, though, so this shouldn't be too difficult to get thrown out. My only question is how quickly we can manage it under the circumstances. There are a lot of moving parts with this case."
Mary gave Sarah a supportive look; that had not been what the FBI agent meant. If any portion of the paperwork was accurate about Brandon Davies, the events of the previous year suddenly looked very, very different.
"Mark is right. Legally, this is not going to be a difficult sell. Getting things expedited might be the challenge, particularly since they think that Jughead's a flight risk and they're refusing to regard him as a minor for the time being," Mary ventured gently. She hesitated before commenting further, but decided to just go for it:
"You know… It's a good thing that we've gotten to know Brandon and Jughead so well, and we know their character." Mary searched Sarah's expression. "It might be easy to be swayed - just a bit - by such a dramatic narrative if we hadn't spent so much time with them, don't you think?"
Sarah's expression indicated that she was not particularly cheered by that perspective on things. "You sound like SAC Wilson."
"She's a wise woman," Mary said mildly. "Do you think she's wrong?"
"About what?" Patton looked between the two women in frustration. "You're not taking any of this seriously, are you? Look, it's falsified information, and it's such obvious overreach that you barely even need me here." The solicitor shook his head at the piles of paper in front of him.
"I mean, isn't all of this," Patton held up a sheaf of papers, "from when Davies was busting a drug ring in Riverdale, and he single-handedly rescued Forsythe from a building just before it exploded? Pitching that as a kidnapping and hostage situation just makes these documents sound like an outdated tabloid."
There had indeed been tabloids running salacious versions of that story in the spring.
"That's true." Sarah was nodding and had clearly gotten back on message immediately for Mark's benefit. She shot Mary another look, though. "It's just... a disturbing mental image. You're right, though. I shouldn't get distracted by how I feel about some of these details."
Mary frowned, but nodded. It was Sarah Quinn's prerogative to make her own decision about what to do with this new possible narrative about Brandon Davies.
After all, they could not be sure what was fact and what was fiction. Only Brandon and Jughead would be able to confirm details, and Wilson had already suggested not leaning too hard on attorney-client privilege since they had a slam-dunk case without that.
If nothing else, the absurd claim that Jughead was responsible for multiple murders was easily disputed, and the timelines demonstrably impossible.
Other things were murkier, though, and some of them seemed more believable than the party line that everyone had eventually come to accept. And yet they were being directed not to follow up on any of those details, which suggested three things:
First and foremost, SAC Wilson wanted to retain Brandon as an FBI liaison and was shielding him from a longer, messier investigation.
Second, Wilson believed that at least some of the deeply troubling information in these documents was true and that the narrative they had previously believed would not stand up to scrutiny.
Third, and perhaps most importantly, Wilson had reason to believe that overlooking any merit in the discrepancies between Brandon's narrative and the documents in front of them was the right thing to do.
Mary had to admit that her instinct was to do the same, particularly in light of what she was learning had transpired over the last few days.
Brandon could not undo any crimes he may or may not have committed, but if anyone had earned the benefit of the doubt - and they were intentionally leaving things in a place where there was plenty of doubt -, then Mary was officially willing to extend that courtesy to Brandon Davies.
If Sarah Quinn had a different way of looking at Brandon, though, as Mary had reason to suspect, then the agent's reaction might have to do with something else entirely. In fact, as she thought about it further, Mary couldn't blame Sarah one bit for her horrified reaction to even a remote possibility that any of this was true.
Moreover, Wilson was not just advocating wiping the slate clean on Brandon Davies. Wilson was actively lobbying for doing it in such a way that even gathering information off the record from Brandon himself would be off limits to Sarah because of her work and security clearance.
Mary regarded Sarah again, but this time with more sympathy and a softer tone when she spoke: "These are disturbing claims. You're not wrong to be upset by them."
Sarah nodded, making only brief eye contact this time.
Patton rolled his eyes, but did not comment further. Instead, he focused once more on the task at hand. "We certainly won't be able to get them out today. I think we should petition to get them out tomorrow, though; even if it's not possible, that should light a fire under someone - even considering that the 'flight risk' argument is basically incontrovertible."
It was common knowledge that Brandon and Jughead had disappeared quite effectively once before.
"I don't like the idea of them being in jail for even one more night," Mary frowned, "but that does seem to be where we are."
At least everyone had been assured (and reassured) of their safety and proper treatment in the jail cells. Agent Williams was still watching over the proceedings with an aggressively gleeful air as she pointed out anything that seemed even slightly suspect.
Wilson had not reined Williams in, either, which seemed to be another statement. Mary was starting to be curious about the SAC, and looked forward to meeting her once she arrived in Toronto to oversee matters in person.
It seemed as though there might be more to Wilson than met the eye.
"At least everyone's rolling on this Marcus Donn character," Mark said cheerfully. "He's made quite a few enemies, and that is going to be extremely useful."
Sarah Quinn looked mildly ill. "That's been a shock in terms of its magnitude, yes. SAC Wilson seems to have suspected this of Donn, but I never dreamed he was so corrupt - not like this."
"So, everyone thinks that he betrayed Rose and sent the Serpents, police, and FBI after them?" Mary Andrews shook her head. "Are their accusations against Donn even credible?"
"Wilson says yes." Agent Quinn shrugged. "And to be fair, some measure of betrayal is why Donn's in custody right now; he tried to roll on Rose's network and make a deal, and didn't realize that we had everything we need - and more - already... and incriminating footage to boot. Insanely incriminating footage. It almost looks staged."
"Oh dear." Mary was surprised to hear all of that. Patton seemed unsurprised, but he would be far more involved in those cases so he'd likely received this information more promptly. "Well, I am glad he tried to make a deal with law enforcement. What was in that footage?"
"Davies sent the footage to SAC Wilson; I only saw it today. It's classified, so I think only lawyers directly involved in Donn's case will view it, but it's... shocking." Quinn rubbed her eyes. "It's not something I'd ever expected of an agent. Let alone a former SAC. There's corruption... and then there's complete moral bankruptcy."
Mark Patton looked as though he thought Quinn was being a bit too indulgent of her 'feelings' again.
Mary knew better, though. The footage must truly be disturbing. Well, good; hopefully Donn would get what he deserved. And hopefully Brand and Jughead had done okay overnight.
00000
00 The previous night 00
It was one to a cell.
Brand would have preferred bunking in with the kid, particularly since Jones had been fairly distressed when he'd had to leave FP, but this was second best. If they'd been anywhere near each other in the cell block, that would have been reassuring, but it made some sense; they were both part of the same investigation. They'd either be together and monitored - surveilled in the cell - or they'd be kept apart.
Brand took in the sparse cell he'd been assigned and then stretched out on the bottom bunk. He was overdue for catching up on some sleep, and he'd see what he could do about making contact with Jones in the morning.
The bed was not all that bad, and Brand was not surprised when the next thing he knew it was sometime in the wee hours of the morning.
He wondered what had woken him up, since the general ambient noise of the other prisoners had certainly not kept him awake. Maybe his system was having a little trouble adjusting to the new location.
Brand finally placed the problem, though: a more concerted muttering and jeering was coming from a number of cells away. It sounded like it was picking up momentum, too, which was a very different pattern from the other grunts and noises coming randomly from various directions.
And then one voice pierced the night. The kid was screaming bloody murder.
Brand's blood ran cold. The odds were very good that Jones was just having a nightmare, and likely that had been what stirred up the inmates surrounding his cell. But he couldn't shake the thought that someone might have tried to mess with the kid, and somehow gotten hold of him, or-
"Brand!" His voice was agonized. "Help me!"
That was it.
"Fire! There's a fire!" Brand was up and making as much noise as he could manage with the materials at hand in his cell, and was gratified to hear a ripple of panic go through the other inmates - and they began yelling as well. The guards obviously hadn't seen fit to intervene yet, but by God they were going to step in now.
"Jones! I'm right here, kid; talk to me. What's going on?"
Brand didn't hear anything coherent after that, which scared him still further, but the lights suddenly blinded everyone as the guards came flooding in. Brand immediately stopped making a racket, allowing them to zero in on the kid's cell. Sure enough, Jones was still yelling.
"Hey! Stop that right now." The guards seemed far too furious as they reached the kid, and Brand was suddenly worried that they might hurt Jones if this was an epic cycle of nightmares. It sounded like things were escalating, which didn't seem right - and Brand still couldn't see a blessed thing from his cell.
"Don't hurt him! He's not dangerous." Brand figured he could be forgiven for lying, under the circumstances. He craned his neck to see anything he could. "Is he okay?"
The guards' yelling was getting louder and it sounded like a lot more inmates were getting in on whatever was happening.
"What are you doing? Let me help. I can calm him down." Brand knew that wasn't going to happen, not in a million years, but he was having trouble coming up with any plan that might actually be viable and he couldn't bring himself to shut up. "Jones? Can you hear me? What's happening?"
Brand caught something being passed along from cell to cell then: "It's flooded. They broke a pipe and it's a mess down there."
"What's flooded?" Brand demanded of the man housed next to him.
"Some idiot smashed part of his toilet and a bunch of the cells flooded. His neighbors were making a ruckus about it. That made someone have a night terror, and it's all a mess now. We'll be double-bunking tomorrow for sure."
Brand sank down onto his bunk and buried his face in his hands. His blood pressure slowly started to come down.
A guard stopped outside his cell door a few minutes later. "Promise me that you won't ever do that again, Davies, and I'll see what I can do to get your kid moved in with you."
Brand looked up, shocked that they knew he'd yelled out the false alarm - and that they were apparently rewarding him for his trouble. "Really?"
"He's a basket case." The guard looked very uneasy. "And he's in the flood zone. I'm not comfortable putting him in with anyone else while his age is in question. But I'm gonna need you to never again pull that stunt you just pulled."
"Done. Model citizen, right here." Brand raised both hands in a gesture of compliance. "Can you move him tonight?"
"We're sorting it out in the morning. Everyone stays put until we have more eyes on this. But I'll see what I can do."
Brand wasn't going to get better than that. He tried to feel glad about the unexpected development, but he didn't like the distressed sounds that he was still hearing from Jones' general direction, even though they were starting to quiet down - and hearing that the guards had seen enough to decide that the kid was a 'basket case' made his stomach hurt.
He lay back on his bunk and tried to relax. Maybe even sleep some more. It was hard to believe that being in jail was in some ways worse than having the kid running around on Rose's turf (and in reality it was not quite that stressful), but Brand still felt like the loss of agency was about to do him in.
Brand sighed when he heard his name again - this time not screamed in distress, thank heavens, but called out clearly all the same. Curse Jones and his ability to sleep talk.
Brand didn't yell back. Hopefully that would get him some points with the guards and help ensure that the kid was moved into his cell when decisions were made in the light of day.
00000
After Kevin and Joaquin finally showed up at Alice's door, Betty, Veronica, and Alice volunteered to make spaghetti for lunch. The rest of the teens had made their way into the kitchen as well, though Joaquin and Kevin were notable exceptions: they were still holed up in a bedroom with Sheriff Keller and Tim, being lectured and touching base with the FBI.
An agent was supposed to be coming by soon to collect Joaquin and then escort him back to his 'undisclosed location' stateside, but apparently there was the slight issue of insufficient personnel on the ground in Toronto.
Sheriff Keller had seemed more than fine with having the opportunity to spend more time lecturing his son's boyfriend on exactly what had been flawed about his reasoning, plan, execution, and the fallout.
Betty knew something that Sheriff Keller did not, though: Kevin had shown up at the door with Joaquin looking pale and shaken. He had clearly not approved of how things had gone down. Keller had had a golden opportunity if his goal was to break up the two teens, but instead his current approach was likely going to strengthen Kevin's resolve - putting him firmly back on Joaquin's side of the conflict.
Oh well. Sheriff Keller would have to figure that out for himself.
"So, what do you think is really going on?" Betty asked Archie. "You know your parents best."
"Honestly? I have no idea," Archie said. "This is really weird. Dad's insisting that we can't visit Jughead, so I'm guessing he's not actually in the hospital. The concert isn't until tomorrow night, so that can't be the reason we can't go see him. Dad seems really worried, too."
"Do you think it could be a custody thing?" Alice made a face. She knew how stressed Jughead had been when FP's custody of him had been more tenuous. "He is getting closer to being eighteen, so you'd think they'd give it a rest at some point."
"Has anyone just tried Googling Jughead?" Gunnar smirked, brandishing his phone.
Sweet Pea chuckled, ignoring Alice glaring at the two of them. "No kidding. Doesn't Jones always make the headlines when he pull crap like-,"
Gunnar suddenly held up a hand, his expression frozen in shock as he regarded his phone. "Uh, for the record, I was only kidding. But I think we have our answers. Holy mackerel."
"What is it?" Betty dropped the spoon she'd been using to stir the spaghetti sauce and she whipped her own phone out of her pocket. In seconds she was wide-eyed and reading aloud.
The group of teens listened in stunned silence to several of the sketchy, obviously incomplete write-ups of the previous night's events. Eventually Betty seemed to reach the end of her ability to Google additional salient details, and they lapsed into silence to absorb what they'd just learned.
"Wow. So Jonas Davies rides again," Alice broke the silence with a wry smile that didn't quite hide her concern. "Well, don't I feel right at home."
00000
Brand sighed with relief when Jones was finally ushered into the cell with him, hours later than the guard had predicted. Brand had been fairly certain that this was how it was going to go, but sometimes things could change quickly in a place like this.
"Top bunk, just like old times?" Brand attempted a smile as he tapped the bed frame. He could hear the door closing behind him, and he watched Jones' eyes tracking that nervously.
"Yeah, sure, Brand." Jones moved past Brand to watch the guards walk away.
"We're literally safer here than anywhere we've been in weeks, kid."
"I know." The kid was gripping the bars like his heart might break. This was going nowhere fast.
"Come on. We'll talk through how this works, so you know what to expect. We won't be split up again, in case you're worried about that."
"That could happen?"
Clearly Brand had introduced a new spectre into the ecosystem. Crap.
"No. That's what I just said - we're gonna stick close. And don't forget that I'm a fed who's in jail, so you're not the only one we're worried about, capisce?" That was just the sort of logic that would - counterintuitively - ground the kid.
"Do they really think that I'm twenty? Even though my passport has my correct birth date? Agent Williams said that was all I'd need." Jones had clearly not understood Williams' posturing to be a tactic, and not the final word on the subject.
"You're a Davies until proven innocent, I guess." Brand tried for another smile. "I leveraged that for all it was worth, though, and it might even be for the best. You'd be alone if they'd sent you anywhere else."
"If we're convicted, will we be roommates for… the whole time?" Jones started climbing onto his bunk, and now it seemed like he was avoiding eye contact.
"Convicted for what? We didn't do anything." Brand rapped his knuckles on the kid's spine as Jones scaled the bunk bed. "We're both getting out of here as soon as they get a good look at the paperwork and realize it's all lies. But yeah, for the few days they leave you rotting here, we'll be joined at the hip. Think 'Clark on special orders' close, only without the near death experiences. You have to pay extra for those."
"Brand, we could get serious time. We could-,"
"You're not even up for anything of substance, kid. That murder stuff is obviously made up, and if the whole world lost its mind and convicted you of everything else being claimed, you'd still be out of here in three months, tops. And yeah, you can bet on the roommate setup being in place that whole time, because there's no way that you'd be convicted and I'd be let off."
"Only you'd be here a lot longer. Maybe for decades."
"Jones, we've got Mary Andrews working on this. Give her… let's say forty-eight hours before you panic. I think it took her that long to spring you from debriefing, and she's extra motivated this time."
"I'm not leaving without you, Brand." Jones was gripping the edge of his bunk as though he thought someone might try to pull him out of it.
"Hey. Don't start that again. Let's get one thing straight right now, Jones: if it looks like you're up for a real criminal record, you are out of here." Brand probably would have been touched by his godson's sentiment under other circumstances, but as things stood he felt only irritation born of worry.
Despite Brand's assurances, this was touchy stuff and Jones could blow it if he said the wrong thing; the odds that they were not being monitored in their cell for anything incriminating - or just information that was useful to law enforcement - hovered right around zero.
"If things go sideways, which they are not going to do, I'm cutting whatever deal I need to and getting you out free and clear. Let's give Mary time to work, though, eh?"
"Dad must be freaking out." Jones leaned forward and scrubbed his eyes with his palms.
"He knows that we're safe here, kid." Brand rubbed the back of his neck, realizing a moment too late that Jones probably recognized the gesture as one of his anxious tells.
"Or, if you're worried about custody stuff, I think we're officially in the position where the court has to either declare you to be twenty years old, or they have to admit that you were traveling perfectly legally with your own father and your upstanding FBI liaison godfather. They can't mix and match the two narratives and claim that you're underage and at the center of criminal activities. That means your dad isn't in the line of fire this time."
Brand saw Jones absorb that idea and relax slightly. "So our plan is simple: we'll just cool our heels until they decide which way they want to play this. And then we'll make our best pitch and all go home."
He preferred to give Mary Andrews the forty-eight hours, since it was highly likely that she'd have them sprung by then - and it was true that the time Brand would be serving for any deal would end up being a whole lot more than three months.
Brand had a feeling that FP was seeing things a little differently right about now, though, and would prefer that Davies throw himself on his sword right away.
Well, the old man wasn't here.
Brand would keep Jones close and they'd just see how things went. They couldn't possibly get into much trouble in just forty-eight hours.
A sharp, incoherent shout came from a cell somewhere in the block.
Jones startled so hard that the bed frame creaked. Brand winced sympathetically.
"That was one long night, huh? But you're safe, kid, and now we're together. Everyone's locked up, and I guarantee you that every guard here has gotten a memo about keeping you out of any scuffles; I've got them at least half convinced that you're seventeen - and their butts are on the line." Brand frowned. "Come on out of that bunk and I'll teach you a sea chanty or a drinking song or something."
Jones rolled his eyes, but slid down willingly. "I'm no good at singing."
"It's just to keep the other noise out. We don't want to get in trouble, so stay relatively quiet, but this will keep you distracted. I know a few good ones, and you can tell people you learned 'em in jail. How's that?"
The kid smiled in spite of himself, and Brand started wracking his brain for other activities they could do after this one. Keeping Jones busy was always the best strategy for keeping him out of trouble.
"I'll ask about getting one of those SAT prep books, too. Maybe that new one your dad wouldn't buy you, since last year's was so much cheaper." Brand clapped a hand on Jones' shoulder and they sat down together on the lower bunk. "We'll make this a useful vacation from our typical pandemonium."
"I've been reading The Decameron. It's kind of like 1001 Nights, but they're quarantined from Black Death and telling stories to pass the time."
"Perfect. I'll get you that one too. Anything but that book you had when we were stuck in the one-bedroom apartment." Brand quirked his eyebrows and was relieved when Jones smirked at him.
They'd be just fine. They'd both get out in no time at all, and FP would eventually forgive Brand for taking his shot at avoiding serious prison time.
"Stop rubbing your neck, Brand. We're safe in here, remember?" Jones tugged on Brand's elbow. "We'll get some books and then it will all be fine."
"Right. Exactly. So, the best songs are the ones with a whole lot of verses. You ready for this?" Brand pressed his palms to his legs to keep himself from doing anything else to betray his agitation.
Being locked up was doing something to him, and he didn't like it one bit.
"I have literally nothing else to do." Jones was smiling like this was a game. Good.
At least one of them was calmed down. Brand really didn't like the sneaking suspicion growing in his mind that he might be doing something very bad, and very wrong by keeping the kid here.
It was possible that FP, Mary Andrews, and all of them were working to get Jones out.
Only Jones.
And it was also possible that Brand's calculation, for all that it seemed logical in his head, was just one more way of holding the kid hostage. Trying to use Jones to get himself out of hot water, even if it cost his godson something.
Man, he hoped that wasn't the case.
Brand wasn't sure that he could see clear to give up decades of his life, though, just to spare the kid a few days in lock-up. But the thought made him feel… well, maybe a little bit like he deserved those decades in prison.
And if word came that the kid was cleared and nobody had made any effort to sort things out on his behalf, then Brand would have to accept that.
Jones knocked his shoulder into Brand's, clearly waiting impatiently to learn a song.
It made Brand feel even worse when he realized that he was deeply appreciating having the kid's company in the small cell.
It was disconcerting to be here, more than a year after meeting Jones, and still not be sure if he was doing right by the kid or just using him to get one more advantage.
Brand had never dreamed that life could become so fraught and confusing because he cared about someone.
00000
True confessions: I didn't know we'd get anywhere close to 30 chapters in this story, but I did know from the outset that Brand and Jug would land in jail by the end. It had to happen. In fact, it came close to being the prologue, but then I thought that was too far into the story and would either be a spoiler or just confusing. In retrospect, I think that was a wise call. But I have to admit that even when I started this story my eyes were probably too big and I had too many ideas (and limited self control...?). Greedy writing just feels so good. :-D But we're very close! For real!
As always, your notes are loved and incredibly encouraging. Thanks again for reading! :)
I hope you are having a wonderful weekend!
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