I think it's unanimous: poor Jughead! Man, everyone is furious with Archie for this latest betrayal, and upset with Betty too.
I wish I could tell you the hits will stop coming, but Jughead has a few challenges ahead. We will definitely address Betty, Archie and Veronica's actions over the next two chapters.
Song: Lovers in a Dangerous Time - Bruck Cockburn
Disclaimer: Not my sandbox, I just build sandcastles in it.
Nineteen: Lovers in a Dangerous Time
"Nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight
Got to kick at the darkness 'til it bleeds daylight…"
Lovers in a Dangerous Time – Bruce Cockburn
At first, Jughead allowed himself to drift.
His feet carried him forward, without any destination beyond south. Away from the pristine houses and their faux perfection within. Away from the bullies, the elite wielding their social power like a bat to his ribs. Away from the lies of his friends.
Goddamn it, Archie!
The one person in the world he should have been able to rely on to have his back had utterly betrayed him. And for what? For his girlfriend of a week? Kicking roughly at a pile of leaves on the Mantles' yard, he rounded the corner to the main street running the length of the town. Archie had no common sense when he was enamoured with a woman. Dating a teacher? Check. Getting wasted because Valerie wouldn't talk to him? Check. Breaking into his best friend's house to prove his father a killer? Check, check, fucking check!
A sudden brisk wind assailed him from behind and he drew his suit jacket closer around his frame. Archie could have asked him. Did he not recognize that when it came to FP Jones, Jughead was harbouring no illusions about the man's character? Hell, he'd left behind the one beautiful, hopeful thing in his world, his tether to sanity, to ensure his mother and sister were far from his father.
Betty. Jughead winced, remembering her tears and how her limbs had trembled at his departure. At least she'd had the courage to ask her questions to his face. She had sworn she believed Jughead's father—believed in his opinion of his father, at that. He wanted to believe she hadn't known of the break-in, but she was no fool. And that look… that stare between her and Veronica the other day… It haunted him. It nibbled at the frayed strands of his hope, unravelling it before his feet.
She knew something would happen. Maybe not the details, but she knew her mother was up to no good.
Pausing on the bridge between north and south, Jughead leaned on the metal railings, staring into the murky waters below. Herein lay the hypocrisy of his heart: while he could not deny his anger at Betty, wasn't he sentencing her for parental crimes—the one thing he'd railed against in his own life?
We're not our parents, Betty. We're not our families. Hadn't he assured her of this in the eye of her personal hurricane? He believed those words, didn't he? Glancing up at the sky, the stars twinkled wildly, as if laughing at his folly.
In his pocket, his phone buzzed three times, rapid-fire. There was no need to glance at the screen. It had to be Betty. Ignoring it, he pushed onwards to Sunnyside.
The park was quiet, save a small group of teens loitering near the entrance. Their Serpent jackets offered practical warmth against the chill, although they seemed oblivious to the shifting weather. One of them he recognized immediately as Sweet Pea, the guy who occasionally sold him pot. The names of the other two escaped him—he'd always kept his distance from the gang—but he knew the pink-haired girl was in the trailer seven lots down.
"Jones, what's the occasion?" Sweet Pea jeered.
"Not tonight," he muttered, pushing past them.
"Hey, hey! Just because you're Serpent royalty doesn't mean you get to be a bitch," the second guy called out, baring his teeth in a hiss.
Jughead's fist curled at his side, knuckles crackling like electricity. The pink-haired teen stepped between them, hands upon her hips.
"Sweets, Fangs, knock it off!" she snapped. "I know you Neanderthals never learned basic shit like social skills or body language, but take a clue: he's having a night."
Jughead halted in his tracks, stunned by her defense. He'd maybe said hi to her three times in his life, more not to be rude than any real interest. She eyed him head to toe, taking in the faint spatter of mud along the hem of his pants from trekking home and the tension in his shoulders.
"Like we aren't all having a night," one of them—Fangs?—grumbled.
"Yeah, we all live in a shitty trailer park, congratulations. Here's some candy for your pity parade," she quipped, whipping a Starburst at his head.
Jughead ducked his head as handful M&M's whipped by—faulty aim from the shorter of the guys. The girl laughed, nailing him in the nose with a lemon-coloured square and darting into the trees. She cast a pointed look in Jughead's direction, her intentions clear: she was distracting them so he could flee.
Thanks, he mouthed before creeping away.
The light was on in the trailer and the green truck was parked out front. Holding his breath, Jughead unlocked the door and stepped inside with a silent prayer.
Please be sober, please be sober…
"Jug? That you?"
His father glanced up from the TV, setting aside a bowl of pretzels. Before him sat an open can of Coke. To Jughead's relief, his eyes were bright and alert and the stench of whiskey was absent. One positive thing to come of the night, he supposed.
"Hey, dad. Whatcha watching?"
"True Lies. Haven't seen it in ages. But that can wait." FP reached for the remote and hit pause. "You're home way too early for Homecoming."
Slumping into a chair, Jughead shrugged. "Guess I'm not cut out for teen movie staples. Or being a normal teenager."
His father's gaze was piercing as he leaned forward. "I know you better than you think, Jug. Something upset you. Ain't no way Betty wanted to leave early."
"She stayed, I bailed." At his father's worried look, he threw up his hands. "Look, I don't want to talk about it. I needed to go."
"Alright, Jug."
His father hit play on the DVD, sinking back into the couch. On screen, Jamie Lee Curtis was interrogating Arnold Schwarzenegger while he rolled on truth serum.
"Have you ever killed anyone?" she asked.
"Yeah, but they were all bad," Arnold replied.
Yeah, this was uncomfortable, even within the confines of a classic action comedy. Shrugging off his suit jacket and loosening his tie, Jughead found himself drifting to the dilemma he'd pondered on the bridge.
"Dad?"
"Yeah, Jug?"
"How… I mean, is it possible to be more than your upbringing?"
FP again hit pause on the film. "I don't know what you mean."
Jughead tugged his beanie down his forehead, skirting his eyebrows. "I mean, is it possible to be a person and be seen for just yourself. No small town biases, no marker of where you grew up, no…" He hesitated, reluctant to hurt a wounded man. "No parents. Just you."
FP mulled this for an uncomfortably long minute, running his hand through his hair. "I don't know. I mean, I grew up on the Southside, same as your granddaddy and same as your mom. And I raised you here, you and Jelly, until…"
"Your dad was a Serpent too, right?"
FP nodded. "Snake blood runs deep. But I made that choice for my family. To protect them, keep them safe. Keep 'em fed. You hear me, boy?"
Jughead nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I do."
"No, you don't. Can tell by the sour look on your face." His father rose from the sofa, crossing the room to pick up a familiar stack of pages. "This? This is you being more than Forsythe Pendleton the Third. This is you choosing another life. The life we wanted for you when we fudged your enrollment address."
"This is my address. I'm still just Southside trash to this town, dad. They don't give a shit what I write."
"So make them!" His father slammed the pages into his lap, the edges fluttering against the elastic binding them. "You listen to me, Jug: I will never let you sit back and bear my crosses for me. You are not me. That's all I've ever fought for. Don't you dare give in."
Jughead blinked away tears, dumbstruck by the passion in his father's voice. He knew, deep down, his father loved him. He'd felt it, in small moments scattered like pennies in a wishing well. But here and now, his conviction was fierce. He sensed that this was the Serpent king whispered of around town.
"You promise me, Jug. You will be more than this."
"I promise," he mumbled, his hands digging into the arms of the chair.
A hand clapped firmly on his shoulder, squeezing it emphatically. "Good."
A brisk knocking on the door startled the two men, each looking to the other for answers.
"You expecting company?" FP whispered.
Jughead glanced quickly at his phone, scrolling through his texts from Betty. None of them suggested she was coming over. He shook his head nervously as a second knock echoed through the trailer.
"FP Jones! Open up."
Sheriff Keller? Jughead glanced over at his father, seeking guidance. His father hastily thrust Jughead's manuscript into his hands, jerking his head towards the bedrooms.
"Hide that in your schoolbooks," his father hissed. "It's going to be okay, Jug."
But nothing was okay. The police didn't show up at your door, banging on it like this, unless things were very much not okay. As Jughead quickly stuffed his belongings into his backpack, he made a split second decision he would later be grateful for: he tossed his backpack out the bedroom window, letting it drop onto the overgrown grass below.
He heard the front door swing open and his father's brash voice: "Sheriff Keller. Is there a reason you're disturbing my peace?"
"Since when do you know anything about peace, FP?"
Snide judgment, as always. Kevin was a solid guy, but his father was a typical small-town cop, assuming the worst of people based on stereotypes and biases. Jughead changed quickly into a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, his suit left crumpled on the floor, as the men continued to talk in a hushed murmur. By the time he stepped out into the living room, beanie slung low, it became clear that this was far more than the routine drive-bys of his childhood.
For starters, Keller had brought all three of his deputies with him. And then, there was the paperwork his father was examining with a wary eye.
"What's going on, Dad?"
"That's what I'm figuring out," FP replied angrily, scanning the page.
"Everything is in order," Keller insisted.
FP sneered. "Yeah, I bet it is. But it's my legal right to review this and ensure you and your men carry it out exactly as it's worded. No extracurricular snooping. Would make the evidence inadmissible, right Sheriff?"
Evidence? What the hell? And then it clicked: a search warrant.
"My father's done nothing wrong. What garbage reason did you dream up to come searching our home?"
Keller's body tensed as FP waved him off. "Jughead, let me handle this, please." Tapping the document against his denim-clad leg, FP shrugged. "You're not allowed to seize any electronics or communication devices. They have to be specified for removal. Learned that from TV."
"I suppose not," the sheriff reluctantly conceded. "But if our tip is right, we won't need them. I'll have to ask you and your son to step outside."
Jughead's instincts screamed protest, but his rational side took his father's lead and stepped out into the cool night, Sherpa jacket in tow. With the officers distracted inside, Jughead tucked his backpack inside the shed—another omission his father was happy to point out on the warrant. His father remained silent, albeit calm, which reassured him. If his father wasn't worried, it meant there was nothing to find.
Glancing down at his phone, he re-read the seven unanswered text messages he'd received since leaving the dance: apologies he didn't care to hear from Archie and Veronica, and a series of pleading missives from Betty.
Juggie, please, talk to me. I had no idea they were going to do this.
I swear, I just thought my mom was going to grill FP. And I should have told you, but you were so happy about her inviting you that I didn't have the heart to hurt you.
Juggie, please, answer me?
Please just text me that you got home safely, okay?
I'm not going to sleep until I know you're okay, Jughead Jones. I will walk over there if you don't answer me.
Her final message gave him pause, particularly in light of their current situation. The last thing he wanted was for her to witness this new shame. Hey, Betts, sorry I ignored your texts. The cops are tossing our home because of some tip that my dad killed Jason. Any ideas where that came from? But, I mean, it's not like it's the first time. We're literal trailer trash, right?
"Could these guys hurry up?" FP muttered. "Fred's got me pulling overtime tomorrow morning."
"Again?"
"SoDale is a beast." His father's hands fiddled with his wallet, rotating it corner by corner. "Money's good. Money takes care of you. Money takes us to Toledo."
Jughead froze, his phone nearly slipping from his grasp. "I'm sorry. Toledo?"
"Family should be together. We're divided and that ain't right. You said it yourself, Jug. This place sucks you in. We're living out the sins of the fathers, over and over. Maybe it's time we break the cycle."
"Betty. I can't leave her."
There was too much at stake now. Jason's unsolved murder, Chuck's assault charges, Polly's search for her lost twins… Even if their love was doomed—and Jughead desperately wanted to believe it could survive anything—he would not leave her to face so much darkness alone.
"Yeah. Yeah, I thought you'd say that…" A commotion within the trailer piqued FP's curiosity. "What the hell's got them so excited? They find my porn stash or what?"
"Ugh, Dad."
FP smirked, nudging his shoulder. "Teasing you. But seriously, what's the action in there? You see anything, boy?"
Jughead craned his neck, struggling to see through the small gap between the door and the frame. Keller had something in his hands, but it was impossible to discern the shape with such a limited field of view.
"Not sure, but Keller's holding something…"
A flurry of incoherent voices swelled within the trailer and the door flew open, revealing Sheriff Keller. In his hand was a green metal lock box, one Jughead had never seen before. Steely-grey eyes focused on his father as the Sheriff made his way down the front steps.
"I have to tell you. FP. When we got that call, I figured it was a prank. I certainly never expected to find… Well, I suppose it's not smoking, but—"
With a flick of his wrist, Keller opened the box, revealing his treasure: a revolver, nestled within a rag inside its metal coffin. The same caliber, Jughead realized, as the weapon that had killed Jason Blossom.
"You're going to have to come down to the station, FP," Keller continued, waving to the deputies now flanking him.
The next five minutes passed in a dizzying blur: Jughead shouting that it was a mistake; the click of the cuffs upon his father's wrists; the blood-red glare of the cop cherries casting a haze over his father's ashen face. An officer's arm wrapped around his chest, threatening to arrest him for obstruction. A cacophony of voices and a flurry of movement until Jughead was shoved against the trailer, pinned like a butterfly, arms and legs splayed as he was checked for weapons of his own, then released.
As his father was shoved inside the back of Keller's cruiser, the world snapped into sharp relief as FP's voice rang out: "Don't stay here alone!"
Tears streamed down cheeks, angry and hot, as he watched what he knew to be injustice. Because he'd seen his father's face as that damn box opened. His father had always been a terrible liar.
FP Jones was genuinely surprised by Keller's convenient find.
Ten minutes more, and he was alone, standing inside the eye of the hurricane that had ripped his world apart. Clothes were thrown all over their respective bedrooms. Cupboards were open, couch cushions flipped and discarded. The front closet stood open, shoes spilling forth from it like the vomit that spilled from him as he understood that this was no nightmare, no story he was crafting. His father had been arrested, in possession of a gun his every instinct told him would prove to be the weapon that ended Jason's life.
Slumping to the floor after rinsing his mouth, Jughead hugged his knees to his chest, desperately rewinding every conversation with his father for the last few weeks. Had he missed some tell-tale sign of trouble? Had his father learned to lie, after all? Was he wrong about his father's innocence? And who had called in the tip? Archie? Veronica? Alice Cooper?
Inside his pocket, his phone began to ring. Glancing at the display, his heart stuttered. Betty. His thumb hovered over the screen, debating whether to decline the call, or answer.
"Don't stay here alone!" his father echoed in his skull.
His thumb slid over the screen and he pressed the phone to his ear as his body shook with silent sobs.
"Jug? Are you there?"
A soft whimper was all he could manage. Her voice was sweet mercy.
"Juggie, what's wrong? Are you okay? I'm so sorry. For everything. I don't know what they were thinking—"
"Betts." It was a prayer through cracking lips.
"Juggie, you're scaring me."
He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, swiping at tears. "Need you."
"Where are you?"
"Home. But it's not home…" Glancing around at the tossed trailer, he closed his eyes against his new reality.
"I'm on my way over, okay? I'm coming right now. Are you safe?"
"Yeah."
He heard a shuffling across the line, the jangling of keys. "I will be there in twenty minutes, Jug. Take a deep breath for me, and hold on."
The phone fell from his shaking hand with a soft thud against the carpet as he folded his head into his lap and held on. For her.
Time slipped away from him, minutes and seconds without meaning. There was only before the arrest and after the arrest and Betty is here. Her horrified gasp as she entered through the ajar front door alerted him to her arrival. He gasped for air, marveled at how oxygen itself seemed richer in her comforting presence.
"What happened in here? Where's FP?"
"Gone," Jughead murmured. "Arrested."
She kneeled before him, her emerald eyes searching his, and the irony of this role reversal from just last week was almost enough to make him smirk. Almost. Her hands cradled his cheeks, brushing away tears with delicate fingers.
"Why was he arrested?"
He shook his head furiously, unwilling to speak of it. Not yet. To speak it aloud would be to give it a certain gravitas that sickened him.
"Okay. You don't have to tell me right now. Do you think you can get up?"
Her hands took his and he allowed her to pull him to his feet. Her arms opened wide and he fell gratefully into her warm embrace. The wreckage of his life surrounded them, but with her, the horror fell away. She hummed softly, rubbing his back as he willed himself to breathe.
"I'm here, Juggie. I won't ever leave you."
"Promise?"
It was a childish request, but she didn't hesitate: "I swear it."
A faint knocking at the door startled them, the couple breaking apart to find a slight woman with cotton-candy hair standing at the threshold.
"Oh my god… Jughead? What happened?"
"A night," he mumbled sadly.
Betty edged forward, placing herself between him and the unexpected guest. "I'm sorry, who are you?"
"Toni. Topaz. I live down the way and…" She looked to Jughead, swinging her Serpent jacket in her hand.
"She's a Serpent, Betts," he explained quietly.
"Oh! Alright, then."
Both women seemed perplexed: Betty, at the youthful gang member before her; and Toni, at his open disclosure in front of a Northsider.
"Um, anyway… I saw FP and came over to see if you were here." Toni shrugged her shoulders, glancing at the dishevelled state of the place. "Do you need any help?"
"No. Thanks, though," Jughead added, remembering her earlier intervention.
"Actually, we could use a little help, if you don't mind," Betty spoke up, reaching for her bag. "Would you mind running an errand for me?"
Jughead frowned. "Betts, what are you—"
"Sure thing," Toni replied. "Anything you need."
"He needs to eat," Betty explained, pulling a wad of cash from her wallet. "Could you maybe run to Pop's and grab a few burgers and some fries? Please grab one for yourself, if you want."
"I'm not hungry," he protested.
"You will be," Betty insisted, returning her focus to Toni. "Do you mind?"
Tossing her pink hair over her shoulder, Toni nodded. "I'll get Sweet Pea to run me over. Back in a flash."
"Thank you."
Betty handed her the cash, watching her cross the road diagonally to rap on a trailer door. Satisfied with this, Betty shut the door as gently as possible and returned her attention to a baffled Jughead.
"Don't argue with me on this, Jug. You're very pale and I'm worried you might go into shock."
Was he pale? He felt nauseous, true, but shock seemed a stretch. At the same time, he didn't care to argue with her. They'd fought enough in recent days.
"That's really nice of her to check on you," Betty mused. "Are there a lot of Serpents in the park?"
Jughead swallowed hard, a wave of vertigo striking him. "Um, yeah. Pretty much all of them."
"At least they can keep an eye on you until FP returns, I guess." Tugging her loose waves into a ponytail, Betty surveyed the damage from Sheriff Keller's search. "First things first, I tidy this up. Grab a seat in the kitchen, Juggie."
"Betts, I can help."
"I know you can, but you shouldn't have to do this." She stepped closer, her hands squeezing his shoulders reassuringly. "You have done so much for me, Jug. So much I can never fully repay you. Please, let me take care of you this time. You have to admit it's a refreshing change," she joked weakly.
He relented wordlessly, pressing a kiss to her lips before staggering into the small kitchen. Slumping into a chair—his father's chair—he rested his head upon the cool Formica table and waited.
"I really thought our first overnighter would be under better circumstances."
Betty laughed softly as she burrowed into his chest. "Me, too. But we haven't done anything the easy way, have we?"
Jughead shrugged, his arm squeezing her gently. "I don't know. Being alone with you… It always feels easy. Comfortable."
"I'll concede on that, Jughead Jones." She pressed up onto her elbows, leaning to kiss his cheek. "I have to admit, your bed is much more comfortable with you in it."
"Thank you for staying. But are you sure your mother won't mind?"
"A certain Vixen owes us both after tonight. Mother dear thinks I'm at the Pembrooke, safe and sound."
While Jughead wasn't quite ready to forgive Veronica and Archie for violating his trust, he was grateful she'd immediately volunteered to cover for Betty. Jughead was hardly a stranger to looking after himself, having been a latchkey kid since age seven. But watching his father cuffed and caged in the back of a cruiser had left him unmoored.
His father and his girlfriend had both proven wiser than himself: the former in his assertion that being alone was a terrible idea; the latter, with her insistence that Jughead try and eat.
Toni had dutifully returned with burgers, fries and a chocolate shake in tow and the familiar smell had soothed him immediately. With a sincere thank you, they'd retreated to a now tidy living room (how Betty had cleaned the place in a half hour, he'd never know). Betty had scarcely made a dent in her food before he'd inhaled his burger, to her amusement. To silence her giggles, he'd graciously shared his shake with her, prompting Betty to check him for a fever.
Betty Cooper was the only person he'd ever shared food—or a bed—with.
His fingers danced along the soft skin of Betty's arm, tracing her elbow and swinging up to her shoulder once more. Her honey waves spilled over the worn fabric of his favourite S shirt, unruly and untamed. He swallowed hard as her bare thighs shifted beneath the blanket, rubbing against his own skin. Maybe he should have worn pants instead of stripping to his boxers.
"None of this makes sense," Betty whispered. "I believed FP. I believe you. And I don't believe your father is a stupid man."
"Because only stupid people commit murder?" he replied bitterly.
"No, Jug." He could hear the eye roll in her tone. "But I sincerely doubt the leader of the Serpents would leave a murder weapon lying around in his trailer for over a year."
Jughead frowned, running his free hand through his tangled hair. Yeah, hearing it out loud, he had to agree it stunk. Just one more reason of many that this warrant seemed all too conveniently timed.
"I know my father, Betts. I saw his face when Keller opened that box." He shook his head, as if to erase the memory. "He had no idea what that box was doing there. Hell, I've never seen that box. This place is hardly Thornhill."
Her hand slid across his chest, fisting the flimsy material of his shirt. "What if… never mind."
"Spill it, Poirot," he goaded her.
"Well, it's all about the MOM, right? Means. Opportunity. Motive. Let's assume FP is being set up. What's the motive? And who would have the means?"
Jughead's eyes widened. "The killer would have the means, presuming he never ditched the weapon."
"He or she," Betty corrected him. "And the killer's motive would be to deflect suspicion from their own guilt."
"Unless FP is guilty himself," Jughead mused sadly. "What if the surprise was because he'd ditched the weapon a year ago? What if he just wasn't expecting it to resurface?"
Betty tugged herself free of his grip, sitting up beside him. "No, don't do that. Don't give up on him, Juggie."
"He wanted me to move on to another story," Jughead continued, laying out his case. "He says the recovery of Jason's body scared him straight, but what if… What if murdering him was the actual impetus for the change?"
Betty's brow furrowed. "But why would he kill Jason? It makes no sense!"
"Maybe Jason screwed him over on the heroin. Maybe he tried to make his getaway cash faster. Or maybe Veronica is right. Maybe Hiram Lodge did hire him due to some grudge with the Blossoms."
"You don't believe that, Jughead," she insisted. "You're afraid of it being true, but you don't believe it."
"You think you know me so well," he spat angrily, rolling onto his side.
"I do. I do know you." She slid back beneath the thin blanket, curving her body to mirror his. "I know how your eyes twinkle when you've hatched a plan. I know the difference between your thoughtful silences and your angry ones. And when your words start spilling out almost too fast to follow, I know you're afraid."
She laid her right hand between them, palm up. He studied her scars, relieved to see the scabs had healed and fallen away.
"We all handle fear differently. But pushing everyone away—me, Archie, your father—is just as destructive as this. And you told me that I shouldn't let the things that hurt me dig into my skin anymore. So don't hide from me. Or FP."
His hand covered hers, fingers interlacing. "How do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Get me. Just… know me," he whispered.
Betty smiled warmly. "Years of study."
"If there's anything Betty Cooper excels at," he teased, silenced by a finger pressed to his lips.
"I excel at everything," she purred.
Looping his arm around her waist, he pulled her on top of him. Her giggles of protest pulled the first true smile from him since his father had been taken away. Delicate palms cupped his cheeks as she straddled his hips and leaned forward. Their mouths, hungry and hot, met in a frenzy of tongue and a gentle clash of teeth as they grew a little too eager. His hands slid down the curve of her hips and he groaned at the realization she was wearing his t-shirt and only his t-shirt. Her hips rotated roughly against his groin, a painfully perfect friction against the thin cotton sheathing him.
"Betts—"
"I know," she murmured huskily into his ear. "Clothes stay on."
"I want to. But tonight…"
She pulled back slightly, fixing her gaze upon him. "I know. And I feel the same. But to be fair, you did start it this time."
"I can't argue with that." With one long, lingering kiss, he cupped her ass with his palm. "But dear God, you need to put something on or I'm going to need to sleep on the couch."
Twisting her hair over her shoulder, Betty flushed. "I only have the pair I wore here, so…"
"Boxers, top drawer," he offered.
As she slid off of his hips, his body ached at the loss. His groin pulsed with fierce need and a desire to discover every inch of her flesh with his tongue, but it couldn't be now. If the worst were to happen and his father went to prison, he didn't want their first time—his first time altogether, truth be told—to be marred by the evening's events. She deserved for it to be about them, and them alone.
Besides, being antisocial and dating challenged had a critical downside: Jughead didn't have a single condom on hand, something he clearly needed to remedy in the very near future.
Betty hooked a leg of his black boxers over her right foot, leaning forward to step into them with her left. "Better?"
"I wouldn't say better. Let's go with more appropriate."
Her fingers released the waistband of the boxers with a light snap of elastic. "The way these hang on me, I'm not sure they're covering all that much."
"The illusion is enough," he assured her, eyeing her up and down. "Have I told you how sexy you look in my clothes?"
"Juggie," she demurred, "I thought we needed to cool off."
"Alright." Drawing a deep breath and holding it, he willed himself to push aside all thoughts of her cheerleading-sculpted body. "C'mon back to bed."
A shrill chime from his dresser caught Betty's attention. "One sec." Glancing down at her phone, she immediately began tapping away at the keys.
"Betty?"
"One sec," she repeated, hitting send. "Okay, we need to be up early."
"Why?"
Betty settled on the edge of the bed as her phone chimed again. "Because Polly has something to tell us about Jason's murder. Something huge. She'll meet us at Pop's for breakfast. Jug, maybe she'll have the missing piece to help exonerate your dad."
"You think so?"
"She says she's scared of the Blossoms." Betty sat her phone aside and slid beneath his waiting arm. "Whatever she knows, it's serious."
"Alright, then you'd better stop seducing me so we can at least try and sleep."
Her fingers poked at his ribs, tickling lightly until he squirmed. "Don't mess with me, Jones."
"Goodnight, Elizabeth," he stressed, burrowing his face into her hair.
With one last, soft giggle, she settled down beside him. "Goodnight, Forsythe."
And although Betty soon slumbered, Jughead lay awake, stroking her arm and breathing in the scent of her shampoo. He had to believe his father was innocent. He felt that truth in the marrow of his bones. Betty's arguments about motive, about the foolishness of being caught with a weapon now, it all added up.
And yet, as the moon cast its beams through the slats of his blinds, he couldn't help but sense that the worst was yet to come.
Thanks to the reviewer who wondered if the Serpents might make an appearance earlier in the timeline because of the twists! I decided I like the idea and worked a brief moment in. You'll see the Serpents again before the fic ends, promise!
Let me know how you're doing. My heart hurts for Jughead. Is FP guilty? What has Polly discovered?
