Author's note: Hi again! I decided for the first post to put up chapters 1&2, as the first is short. You'll see that the format of the story is each chapter is a year of F.P.'s prison sentence. Enjoy! Also, the development of Bughead! Yay!
02.04.2011
F.P. keeps his head down nearly the entirety of the sentencing hearing. He knows what he'll see if he looks up, looks over his shoulder.
He beat the charges, sort of. The actual murder charge, despite his false confession, was dropped. Turns out his son was even more capable than F.P. already knew. Jughead and his friends (that Cooper girl he's been mentioning lately actually found the video evidence, but F.P. tries not to read into that) had managed to prove that Clifford Blossom killed his son, and extorted F.P. into covering it up and taking the fall for it.
However, he was a felon before this. He committed a couple more felonies in cooperating. The justice system can't let a man like F.P. Jones walk after all this. So, he's not getting life in prison, but he'll lose so much time.
He'd pled guilty, hadn't gone to trial. He'd been around the block enough times to know his best chances were with a plea deal.
The court rose and fell with the entrance of the Judge, who immediately slipped into her monologue of judicial integrity. F.P. glanced up at the sound of his full name, stood up when she demanded.
He didn't breath when she said 10-15. From somewhere behind him, he heard a tight fuck that he knew was Jughead.
When they get ready to move him, he turns to his meager audience for the first time. Jughead has already moved up closer to the gate, his brow tight and F.P. briefly wishes to know all the beautiful, brilliant, indignated thoughts swirling in his son's head. F.P. shakes his head at him, he can't hear it in this last moment. Nothing anyone says will change this.
F.P. risks a glance around the rest of the court. He's unsurprised to see Fred and Archie Andrews solemnly sitting in the middle of the benches, the raven haired Veronica Lodge beside Archie. Betty Cooper is just behind his son, dressed up and so sweet. His throat feels tight when he sees the way her fingers curl around the crook of Jughead's elbow, her large eyes fixed on the boy's face.
He makes eye contact with the woman who's leaning against the back wall, knows her tongue is too sharp for its own good. Alice Cooper closes her eyes for a long press, before turning quickly out the courtroom door.
"Dad," Jug's voice brings him back but then he's gone again. The bailiff turns him away and out the side door. He's eternally grateful he didn't have to hear the sentence his son was constructing. He knows it would've broken both of them in that moment.
06.19.2011
"Happy Father's Day, dad," Jughead says, somewhat sheepishly into the plastic phone. His fingers dance along the metal cord, eyes downcast. "I'm sorry this is the first time I've visited. Or that- that I haven't called."
F.P. doesn't even acknowledge the apology, too excited his son is here at all, let alone on this day. He thought, he knew, that after everything, he may never have seen him again.
"Don't Jug it's- you're here now. So tell me, how's school? Fred treating you alright?" F.P. just wants to know that he's fine, that it will have been worth something for a moment of his son's happiness.
"Uh, school just ended. Last week actually, and I didn't flunk out, so I guess it went fine. Archie's got football camp, so I've been working some for Fred to keep busy and help out."
F.P. smiles but its sad. "Course you didn't flunk out, not with that big brain of yours. Good, that's good, you working for Fred. Keep you busy, out of trouble." He points slyly with the hand holding the phone, knowing his kid is too good to really have to worry.
So F.P.'s interest is piqued when Jughead shifts in the uncomfortable chair, his cheeks coloring so slightly and his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. He narrows his eyes curiously at the boy.
"You are staying out of trouble aren't you, boy? No drugs, no Serpent shit?"
Jug scoffs, "No, of course not, I'm not particularly eager to join you in here Dad."
F.P. ignores the good natured jab and leans in with a grin. After a beat he says, "Jug, do you got yourself a girl?"
The blush hadn't even disappeared before it returns three fold, and for the first time Jughead opens his mouth and no eloquence comes out. F.P. throws his head back in a real laugh, the first in months as his son embarrassingly stumbles to deny his love-struck state.
"Dad, its not- I'm," he squirms, "Its not really, she's not mine per say, she's…"
He cuts his son off, "Jug, she might not be yours, but that dopey ass look on your face tells me your all hers. You don't have to say anymore, boy, just…don't be a dumbass, alright? I know I'm not in a place to give you too much fatherly advice, but man to man, Jughead, I hope you're being safe."
"Jeez Dad, its not like that," Jughead scoffs again, and F.P. is overly amused that his teenage son is sitting in front of him trying to act like he has no interest in sex. "We're just friends-"
"Whatever you are, wear a condom."
F.P. thinks his smile might split his face when his son dramatically groans, his head dropping into his hands.
12.25.2011
F.P. hadn't really thought of what Christmas in prison would be like. It wasn't a major holiday in the Jones' household, especially the last few years. Basically, any celebratory tradition was done for the benefit of Jellybean and preserving her innocence.
He figured he'd get a phone call from Jughead, which would be a welcome event as it would be in addition to their weekly Thursday night call. Jug had been pretty consistent about keeping his dad in the loop, and F.P. swears its the stories of his son's life that keep him looking ahead. He makes a monthly visit, between school and work and the paper and his girl. F.P. likes those visits, because Jughead is flourishing and he can see it, how good this is for him. It hurts that it came in these circumstances, but its good.
So what he doesn't expect is C.O. Lewinsky calling his name and leading him into the corridor that passes the visitation windows. F.P. vaguely feels a pang of sadness at all the men talking into the phones, varieties of families on the other side of the glass. May as well be the other side of the world on a day like this.
They stop in front of a room with a small window, and F.P. is suddenly nervous; the only time he's been in here was for a meeting with his attorney, Mary Andrews, to discuss the timeline for appeal. They move through the door and Lewinsky is removing his cuffs, but nods for him to sit at the metal table.
"I gotta stay the whole time, Jones."
F.P. looks back at him, not realizing the second door is swinging open, "Whole time for what?"
The C.O. just nods again, towards the door.
"Hey, dad," his son is there, in the room with a platter, Mary and Fred Andrews over his shoulder. "Merry Christmas."
He's up so fast, and wrapping his son in his arms, the tray forgotten on the table. He hears the chuckle of the Andrews, and the shuffle of Lewinsky as he mutters easy there Jones, but its all lost as he pulls back to see Jughead's eyes shining at him. He can't even be embarrassed by the chains at his feet, or the numbers across the back of his prison uniform, he's just floored that he's gripping his son.
Mary pipes up at that moment, "We had to pull some strings, and it means skipping next month's visit, but we thought it'd be worth it. We wanted Jug to have something good this Christmas…and well, he wanted to see you."
F.P. nods, scared if he opens his mouth he'll cry. He looks between the Andrews, two old friends who've taken his son in, and hopes that they can see the unwavering gratitude he has for them.
Fred smiles. He thinks he knows. "Its only an hour, but we'll step outside and let you two celebrate."
They slip out as he and Jughead move to sit. Jug glances briefly over at Lewinsky and shifts, but returns to meet F.P.'s eyes with a smile. He pulls the large platter in between the two and removes the lid to reveal an array of themed cookies, some beautifully decorated and others a little misshapen.
"Uh, we made some cookies, since we can't exactly share a meal, and I figured something homemade would be good…I made those ones, with the weird squiggles. Turns out I'm not so great at dessert decorating," Jug laughs at himself as F.P. takes one of the awkward snowman cookies.
"Didn't have the Andrews pegged as bakers," F.P. mumbled around the treat. Damn. He missed good food.
Jughead looks up from his cookie- he'd gone with a pretty, symmetrical christmas tree- and gives a light grin that F.P. doesn't think he's ever seen before.
"Oh no, Betty and I, we did this. Her brilliant idea, my poor execution. Alice says Merry Christmas, by the way."
"Oh, does she?" F.P. wonders for the millionth time if Betty Cooper is the girl. Jug never really gives him the details, and F.P. never presses. There's a lot of we in his son's weekly phone calls lately, but never a name to put a face with the girl who's got his son so head over heels. There's always been a suspicion that the perfect girl next door is the one who has Jughead so happy; F.P. finds the thought both uplifting and nerve-wracking.
His sweet grin turns wicked as he laughs with his father, "Well, it was said in a somewhat condescending tone but it was said. At least her animosity for the Jones' was deferred from me, even if but for just a moment. "
F.P. smiles. There's a lot of reasons Alice Cooper would be less than thrilled with the Jones', but he thinks in this case, it may have a lot more to do with her daughter's virtue than the sins of Jughead's father.
The hour comes and goes, and F.P.'s heart drops when the Andrews' return and Lewinsky gestures him up. F.P. hugs both Mary and Fred in turn first, and can't even stop the tears this time when he whispers his thanks to them. He'll never be able to repay them. But he has to try to convey how much this means anyways.
He hugs Jughead, pressing his head down to kiss the top of his hair roughly (which proves hard as he only seems to keep growing lately.) He feels the curl of his son's fingers into the material at his shoulder's and tells him he loves him. Jug chokes a little, saying it back.
He gathers the plastic container as Lewinsky preps F.P. to go back to his cell. "Hey Jug?"
"Yeah, dad?"
His lip quirks. "You tell Betty I said thanks, okay?"
Jughead ducks his head, and nods, a grin spreading across his face. "I will, dad. I will."