Alright shippers, it's time we convince these two to sort their shit out.
Your reviews made me so happy - special shoutout to new readers stumbling into my AU. I'm so glad so many people found the reference to Suite Life amusing - mad props if you also clued in on Cole's role on Friends. I'm equally happy that people are finding the characters realistic/true and that the depictions of abuse have felt accurate. I've drawn some pieces from a past relationship for this story, so I am very committed to being real and thoughtful. (I'm good now, married to someone who treats me as an equal and with kindness - don't worry!)
Where's Veronica?
Remember, she and Jughead have not had much reason to bond and this is all his POV. That said, she will have a stronger presence from here on out. She plays a key role in the next chapter.
What about Betty's secret?
It will come out in the next few chapters (unsure of pacing yet) and it is not the same revelation Chuck makes in the show at Jughead's surprise party. I've done something different. Betty does give you some hints in this chapter!
Song: Touch - July Talk (go listen as you read, from the moment Jughead and Betty are together - I think it adds something to the events)
Disclaimer: Not my TV show, not my characters, but I do make these puppets dance. Dialogue is borrowed strictly for context and no infringement intended.
Twelve: Touch
"No one gets to get this close
You told me to fit right in
Where I was needed most
We had to wait, anticipate and come of age..."
Touch - July Talk
For all of their domineering ways, the Coopers seemed oblivious to the covert usefulness of their ladder. Take now, for instance: currently, Jughead was stealthily sneaking it around the side of their home, on a mission to reassure their younger daughter. The height was perfect, and it leaned against the side of the white picket special with scarcely a sound to betray his plans (or lack thereof).
In reality, all he had was a theory: that Betty had run off because she blamed herself for Chuck's actions in the student lounge.
He couldn't dismiss her feelings. Thinking of the bruises on her wrist sent a flood of ice water coursing through his veins. But he could reassure her that he didn't hold her responsible. They could process their misplaced, albeit genuine, guilt together.
He ascended slowly, mulling how best to greet her. Soft-spoken empathy? Impassioned concern? A silent hope to be invited in? Reaching the top rung, his nerves consumed him. He tapped quickly, his frantic thoughts akin to a Pollock painting.
The blinds lifted, revealing a worried Betty. Recognizing her visitor, her eyebrows lifted in question of his unexpected visit. Delicate hands yanked the glass pane roughly upwards and she stood expectantly before him.
Fuck it; he could only be himself.
"Hey there, Juliet. Nurse off duty?"
For a moment, it was there: a half-smile, tugging gently on the corners of her pale lips. It quickly collapsed beneath the remembered weight of her epiphany hours before, but it offered Jughead hope. Betty stepped aside, allowing him to crawl through the window into the sanctity of her bedroom once more.
Jughead scanned the room, quickly noticing the open journal on her desk. A pastel pink candle in a large glass jar—strawberries and cream, he decided after a deep inhale—burned on the bedside table. Her bed was sloppily made, the pillows askew.
"What are you doing here, Jug?"
He dug his hands deep into the pockets of his Sherpa coat, hiding his fidgety hands. "I came to check on you," he offered.
"Why?" Her words were faint, a delicate tinkling of wind chimes.
"Because that's what you do when you care about someone. You check on them when they've had one of the worst days imaginable." Jughead approached her with caution, the memory of her outburst with Archie still fresh.
A pained, guttural cry slipped from between her pursed lips as she turned away. "The worst," she echoed.
"Talk to me, Betts. Please?"
Her hands slid up her cheeks, fidgeting with her ponytail. Tugging on it, smoothing the crowd of her head, willing it to embody the calm perfection she surely did not feel.
"This family. They're crazy. What my parents did to Polly? I don't even have words for it. Who does that to their daughter? To their grandchildren?"
"They're parents. They're all crazy."
She began to pace, tracing a well-worn path in the plush carpet beneath her feet. The rapid motion to and fro was dizzying, but he resisted the urge to halt her. How many hours had he spent walking in the woods this weekend, wearing down dirt paths as he dissected his every insecurity? Too many.
"Polly… The way she talks, Jug? She's not… I mean, she's my sister. She's still Polly. But there's things she says, and they scare me. They don't make sense. Or maybe they do."
"She's dealing with a tremendous amount of grief," he gently reminded her. "I'm sure it's hard for her to keep her thoughts in order."
Betty paused midstride, staring out the window behind him. The sun was setting, casting its copper hue over his shoulder until it kissed her right cheek, as if longing to envelop her in its warmth.
"And now, all I can think is… what if I'm crazy like them? What if that's why I let Chuck twist my mind up into knots?" She blinked away her tears, swiping them angrily with her sleeve. "What if I got you and Archie hurt because I'm just another crazy Cooper?"
He took a hesitant step forward, then another, studying her posture for signs of flight. But there were none—just a beautiful woman, folding upon herself until she was tiny, perhaps so much so that she might be granted her wish to disappear.
He would not let her give up on herself so easily.
"You didn't get me hurt," he told her, his hands gripping her shoulders to steady her shaking frame. "You do not bear the weight of what he's done. And yes, I know, I'm a huge hypocrite after what I said Thursday," he added quickly at her exasperated huff. "But if you'll agree to let your guilt go, I'll let mine go, too."
Head bowed and hands wringing before her, Betty sighed. "I feel awful. And stupid. And confused about so many things. I don't even know what's real anymore. Isn't that what being crazy is?"
"Hey, we're all crazy," Jughead replied gently, ducking his head into her line of sight. "We're not our parents, Betty. We're not our families."
His voice cracked, shattering upon words of wisdom he'd heard so many times—often from Betty herself. Because this time, he believed them. He was not his father, nor his mother. Betty had always been a radiant sun beneath the dour roof of the Cooper home. They were more than their DNA, more than the chaos between their respective four walls.
Her chin lifted slightly and her nose grazed his. "Promise?"
"I swear."
He was breathing her air, pressed close like this. Every exhalation felt like a butterfly's wing, fluttering in a whisper-kiss. His grip on her shoulders loosened, but she did not pull away from him. If anything, she drifted closer, her fingertips grazing his waist.
He swallowed hard, unable to dislodge the lump in the back of his throat. "Also…"
"What?" she murmured.
This isn't the time, Jughead. What are you thinking? What are you doing? You're going to push her away!
But he was so tired of pretending. So tired of fighting the gravity of her. He would be pulled into the fire of her sun. He would happily burn, if she knew the truth of his heart.
She bounced impatiently before him, tilting her head askance. "What?"
He'd spent years on the sidelines, studying her for signs that she might one day entertain the thought of dating him. He'd listened to her many laments over an oblivious Archie, choking down acid as he wore a calm demeanor to conceal his own affections. And he knew, if it was what she wanted, that he would bury these feelings for the rest of his life and remain best friends—that a world without Betty's laughter and Nancy Drew tendencies was a world barren of joy. He would give Betty anything she desired. But there wasn't a chance in hell he'd let her continue to believe that Chuck Clayton was the only man in the world who could ever want her.
His hands slid up her neck, cradling her cheeks as he leaned in to kiss her. It was everything he'd ever dreamed of.
The softness of her lips struck him first: how she melted into him, delicate and gentle. The hint of cherry in her lip gloss tantalized him; he wanted to nip and lick, taste and tease. She was raw honey-sweet, flooding his senses as her own hands wrapped around his neck, tugging him closer. Streaks of lighting coursed beneath his eyelids and his knees buckled. The world was fracturing beneath him and he was ready to die for this, die for her and oh my God, the quiet purr rumbling in her throat was his breaking point. He was done for.
He pulled back first, breathless and bewitched, and she smiled shyly up at him.
"Wow…"
He nodded furiously, language lost to him now. He wanted to kiss her again and again. Caress her cheeks and marvel at the elegant strength of her jawline. Pull the elastic from her hair and tangle his fingers in the loose strands falling free.
Holy shit, I kissed Betty Cooper!
Her fingers danced along his cheek, stretching to toy with an unruly curl peeking out from beneath his beanie. A gesture she'd indulged in countless times over the year, but it suddenly held more weight. Maybe it always had, but neither had been willing to acknowledge it.
"Juggie?"
"Hmm?"
Her cheeks flushed crimson as she studied his face. "How long have you wanted to do that?"
Jughead winced. "I'm not sure I should answer that."
"No more secrets," she gently rebuked him.
He pulled her closer, holding her to his chest. "Five years, maybe more," he admitted, burying his face in her hair.
Betty burrowed into his shoulder, her hands gripping his hips. "That's a long time."
"I'm good at waiting."
"You're good at kissing, too."
He took this as an invitation, pressing soft kisses atop her head, behind her ear. His name fell from her mouth like a prayer to a heaven he'd never believed in. Her mouth captured his, lips parted, and he staggered backwards into her desk. She chuckled softly into his mouth as her right hand slipped beneath his faded tee. He shuddered beneath the circles her palm lazily traced along his skin, resisting the urge to pull her tight against the sudden throbbing in his jeans.
With one last flick of her tongue along his lower lip, Betty broke away. "Still wow," she demurred.
"No lies detected," he quipped lightly, running a finger along the bridge of her nose.
On the bedside table, her cellphone chimed with a soft reminder of an appointment and with it, reality. Her mood suddenly shifted: her brilliant smile burned away to a soft ember, and she pulled away from his embrace. Betty sunk slowly onto the end of the bed, her shoulders slumped.
"What am I doing? You don't want me, Jug."
Oh god, I pushed it too far. I pushed her and ruined it all.
He crouched beside her and tentatively reached for her hand. "If I crossed a line, I'm so sorry. Please believe me."
Her eyes widened. "No! You're wonderful. But there are things I've done that you don't know. Bad things."
"Your secret?" he prodded. "Betty, I told you that there's nothing you could tell me that would drive me away."
"I'm scared, Juggie," she confessed. "Scared of you finding out. Scared of—oh my god, Chuck. What if he finds out about this?"
"So I'll cancel the skywriter," he deadpanned, to her visible annoyance. "Listen, until you sort out Chuck, whatever just happened? That's between us. We'll figure it out. We always do."
Betty's hand slid her sleeve up, revealing her bruises. Her makeup was wearing off, the purple seeping through the faded ivory smears. Her fingertip traced the edges, as if memorizing the damage done.
"Can you pass me that white plastic package on my vanity?"
He obliged her quickly, noting the label: makeup cleansing wipes. She yanked one from the package, running it in rough circles until the devastating reality of Chuck's abuse emerged. He gasped in horror, realizing now that even Thursday, he'd only seen perhaps half of it. Nearer her elbow, the skin was almost black.
"He convinced me this was an accident." She crumpled the wipe angrily, tossing it across the room. "But it wasn't. I know that now."
Jughead sat the wipes aside, running his thumb gently over the top of her hand. "What can I do to help you feel better?"
"Can we just lie down for a while?"
He gestured to the door of her bedroom. "Parents?"
"It's locked. Dad's gone, and mom is probably drunk by now, anyway." She shimmied up the bed, hugging her pillow tightly. "Please?"
They shifted onto their sides, lying face to face, holding hands in the space between them. It was an easy silence: his thumb drew sloppy hearts upon her hand; her eyes roamed his features, as if seeking to draw them from memory later. Her breathing slowed until it rose and fell with his own.
"Five years?"
He nodded slightly, glancing away. "I was in denial for a while, if that makes you feel better? Um, yeah…"
She nestled closer, pulling their clasped hands to her chest. "It's just… You listened to me talking about Archie all those years, and never once did you let on that you… Wanted to kiss me, I guess?"
"I wanted—want to be with you," he corrected her. "But it's okay if you don't. I can get over it."
"Juggie, don't say that."
"I can't lose you as a friend." And now he was confessing, unfurling his sins. "Your friendship means everything to me. I won't jeopardize that for anything, Betty."
"Shh." Her finger pressed to his lips. "I just… Can I tell you something I've never told you? You can't laugh, though."
He tugged absently at his beanie as he squeezed her hand. "I won't laugh."
Betty bit her lip gently as she studied their entwined hands. "I might have thought about this—us—a few times over the years. But I always pushed it away as fast as I could."
Jughead's heart thumped in his chest. "Oh. Well, with Archie around—"
No! It wasn't like that," she insisted. "I ignored it because I was so sure you never thought of me like that."
Jughead rolled his eyes in disbelief. "You're beautiful, kind, wickedly intelligent and bake amazing cookies. I never stood a chance, Cooper."
"I don't know. For years, I felt like I was crashing your friendship with Archie. Three's a crowd, right? You barely talked to me unless Archie was around."
"Um, because I was a social outcast with one friend gifted to me through my dad's BFF. And then, you happened."
Betty managed a small smile and his heart skipped at the sight. "When we started hanging out on our own, I was so relieved that you liked me, so grateful that you didn't hate me, or resent me for taking up Archie's time. We'd built this bond of our own over books and movies, and it meant a lot to me. So any thoughts I had, I ignored them. I guess… I didn't want to lose our friendship, either."
He was reluctant to bring it up, but there was a blatant contradiction in her words. "But you're friends with Archie, and you still tried to make it work."
"I did. Because my mom was keen on it. Because everyone seemed to expect it, so much so that it felt like a safer bet. Even if it didn't go well, I knew Archie would shrug it off quickly and we'd stay friends. He even seemed interested at times. It was confusing. You, on the other hand, have a tendency to put up walls and shut people out."
"I worked very hard to hide it, or ignore it. Because why would someone like you…" His breath hitched in his chest as she slid closer, curving her body against his own. "No one wants damaged goods, Betts."
"You are not damaged, Jughead Jones. Not to me." Her head rested on his heart, ear pressed to his chest. "I'm crazy, so I would know."
His arm wrapped tightly around her and his fingers drew circles through the flannel sleeve of her shirt. "Maybe you are, if you're thinking of being with me. I'm okay with it."
"Juggie?"
"Hmm?"
"How do I break it off with Chuck?"
Jughead shrugged. "Easy. Dump a garbage can on his head and tell him to fuck off."
She propped herself up on his chest, staring down at him. "That's not what I mean. He knows the thing. If I leave him, he's going to tell everyone."
"Alright, let's approach this rationally. What's the worst that could happen if Chuck told people about your secret? Would you go to jail?"
Betty winced. "Maybe?"
Jughead's eyes widened as he searched her for signs of deception, finding none. "Seriously? I don't believe it."
"I don't think charges would be laid, for reasons I won't explain. But technically, yes." Betty bowed her head in shame.
"Then whatever it was, it was justified," Jughead reasoned. "Moving on, let's put jail aside. I will be here for you when the secret spills. What about Archie?"
Betty hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of his tee. "I—I'm not sure."
"Well, I am. Archie can't hold a grudge for long. He'll get over it in a day or two at most." At her disbelieving look, Jughead elaborated. "Betty, he is so angry with Chuck that anything you have done will be forgotten. He just wants you to be safe. What about Veronica?"
Betty mulled this for a moment, nodding slightly to herself. "She won't be mad."
"The plot thickens. Your most recent addition to your squad will forgive you, but your lifelong friends will judge you?"
"Kevin probably won't be mad, either. He loves drama."
Jughead traced her jawline, smirking at how her cheeks flushed in response. "So, all of your best friends will stand by you, plus you'll be free of an abusive jerk. Rationally, is your secret really as much leverage as Chuck believes it is?"
"It's still really bad, Jug."
"I get that. In the ideal world, it will remain yours to reveal or conceal. Of course, you have leverage of your own."
Betty's eyes narrowed. "And that is?"
"Physical evidence of abuse," he replied softly. "Take photos. Upload them somewhere safe. Send me copies as well. He talks, he goes to jail."
She rested her head on his chest, closing her eyes. "I really don't want to go there."
"He doesn't have to know that. He only needs to think you will."
A quiet yawn and a mumbled question: "How long can you stay?"
Forever. "As long as I'm home before eleven, my dad won't notice."
"Mmmkay."
The flickering candle on the table beside them cast shifting shadows on the wall beside them. The dark figures stretched and danced, swaying as if surrendering to a song only they could hear. It was the song humming deep within his throat, caught in the fear of waking up to find the last hour had never happened. Jughead concentrated on each of his senses in turn, memorizing this moment he wished would never end: the scent of vanilla and strawberries; the soft whoosh of breath as she exhaled; the lingering taste of her lip gloss; the softness of her skin; and the way the candlelight lent a halo to the woman who'd been his personal angel for years.
Whatever happened tomorrow, a week from now, a year, it didn't matter. He would always have tonight.
