Author's note: I'm currently waiting for my Ao3 invite so I can share this story there too. I love this chapter, F.P.'s sense of humor really starts to come out. Also, the first of many Falice crumbs! Hope you enjoy now, as I'm setting us up for the start of some angst in the coming year!
05.18.2012
There's not going to be a visit this weekend. That's what Jug tells him on the phone Thursday, as he apologizes repeatedly. F.P. hides the disappointment well, reassuring his boy that he figured at some point things might come up and keep him from making the trek to Shankshaw.
It'd been so regular, ever since Jughead had gotten his license and inherited the Harley bike that was formerly F.P.'s, making the monthly visits now every two weeks. He's busy with the end of the school year, and has taken a second job at Pop's to make extra cash, but hasn't told F.P. why. The last few phone calls, and his most recent visit, were shorter than they had been, but Jughead doensn't offer an explanation.
A little uncertainly, F.P. asks into the phone, "Jug, is something…just, nothing's going on right, boy? You've been a little preoccupied. I know I can't do much for you in here, but if you need to talk, I'm all ears."
The line is silent for several moments. After another beat, F.P. leans into the receiver, "Son, you there?"
"I'm going to the junior prom. Tomorrow." Jug spits out so quick, F.P. jumps a little. "With Betty, and I've been picking up some shifts to pay, because the whole thing is ridiculously expensive for a bunch of minors to have to afford, but she's so excited and I'm just…I'm just, Dad, I don't know what I'm doing."
"Well, you never were a very good dancer, Jug."
"Dad." He can hear the light laugh in his voice, but its overpowered by a self-conscious uncertainty. "I'm serious."
F.P. leans against the wall, glancing around. How the fuck did he end up here? Not in prison, he's clear on that, but this place where he has to talk his son, the self-proclaimed pariah, off a proverbial ledge in nervous anticipation of his high school prom date with one Betty Cooper.
"Jug, calm down. Its a dance. The same people you've always known, just, you know, a little fancier. And the same girl you've been with, there's nothing to sweat. Just pick up some flowers and make sure you remember to clean the trailer, and you're all set. And you know, probably leave the hog at home, don't wanna ruin her pretty dress."
Towns over, Jughead blinks a few times at the normality of his father's advice, before quickly dismissing it. "No, its not the prom itself, its Betty. Its…Dad, I love her. I'm so in love with her, and I just…I don't want her to be disappointed when she realizes its just me."
F.P.'s heart drops at his son's words. He loves her. He'd sort of figured, after all this time, that that was the nature of the relationship, but to hear his kid say he'd fallen in love? Well, F.P. hadn't really anticipated the elation and the fear that moved simultaneously through him, at the thought of his son being so vulnerable with another person. He grips the receiver tighter.
"Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Third, you listen to me. That girl has been there by your side, good and bad, practically since you could wipe your own ass. Prom or no prom, as long as you're there for her, and you show up for her, and you bust your ass like you've been these last few weeks to make her happy, you can't disappoint her. She's got a good heart. And, fuck son, so do you. I know you Jug, and I know your mom and me…we did a number on you. But you deserve this too; all the things you wanna give that girl? You deserve too."
The line is quiet again, and he hears Jughead pull a deep breath in. The little automated voice in the prison phone system warns them they have two minutes left.
Jug clears his throat, "Thanks, Dad."
"Of course," F.P. knows they don't have to say more. "You better be a gentleman, Jug."
He barks out a laugh, "Hard to forget that, under the watchful eye of Alice Cooper." After a beat, "Hey, what did you mean about cleaning the trailer?"
Its F.P.'s turn to laugh, knowing the following statement will both embarrass Jughead and negate his previous advice. "I was young once, kid. You're gonna want to bring her somewhere after the dance, somewhere where's theres not any watchful eyes. Just make sure you change the sheets."
Two weeks later, he gets a photo in the mail, a candid moment of his son tucking a blonde curl behind the ear of Betty Cooper. He's in a tux with his fingers resting on the soft lavender silk of her gown as she grins up at him. They're standing on the porch of the Cooper house, final preparations before heading off to the dance. F.P. is a little breathless at how clearly their love shows in a photograph.
On the back of the picture is a short message:
They're so much better than we were, F.P. They have such a good chance to be the kind of happy we always wanted. Thank you for your son. -Allie
10.06.2012
"Well, now that you're legal, you know the girls down at the Wyrm would be happy to give you a good show, birthday boy."
"Oh, god, Dad," Jughead visibly cringes through the glass. "I'll stick to a celebratory lottery ticket."
F.P. laughs. "Damn. 18 years old, my son. And you're still wearing that fucking hat."
"Hey, you gave it to me, if you recall," he returns, nervously readjusting said beanie, "are you done giving me shit?"
"Nope," he pops the p, "I'm your dad, Jug, and I'm in prison. Giving you shit is all I've got these days."
The younger Jones man rolls his eyes, and seems to get a little serious. F.P. waits him out, knowing he's got something on his mind.
Jughead takes a deep breath before meeting his eyes. "You know how Betty was really pushing me to get my grades up, and um, to take the SATs with her? I did, and well, I did good. And I've spent so much time on the Blue & Gold, and the photography I started. I've been…I've been writing my novel, you know, and I thought I'd do that all here, that I wouldn't need anything more. But Betty, she's going to go to New York, Dad, she has these plans."
F.P. has no idea why Jughead just word vomited and is trying to connect the dots quickly, hoping it doesn't equal something bad.
"I talked with Ms. Fisher in the school office, and I even got the recommendation letters together. I have it all ready to submit, early even, thanks to Betts. I just…I feel like I should tell you now, before…well, just before. Not that I've decided anything, obviously."
F.P.'s still unclear. He leans forwards, "Jug, buddy, what are you talking about?"
He fiddles with the phone line as he says, "College, Dad. I'm applying to college. In the city."
Oh.
The thought hadn't occurred to him. He knows Jughead is in his senior year, and that he's brilliant. He's heard snippets of Jug bragging about his valedictorian-to-be girlfriend. He knew this was coming. But the Jones' don't really do college; hell, they barely do high school. So as much as college had been a dream he had for his son, there's been a part of him that couldn't help but doubt he'd make it that far, that he'd fall victim to the path of his father. F.P. is acutely aware of the fact that the only reason Jug's even got the option is because he's been out of his hands for so long.
He hasn't said anything yet, and Jug nervously jumps into explaining himself, "Nothing's certain, I have to get in. And then, the financial aid and the moving. I've been saving, and Alice has been helping me figure out some scholarship stuff, but it doesn't mean anything yet."
"Jughead-"
"-I'd still have to go. And I don't wan't you to think I'm only following Betty. I mean, I kind of am, I'd go anywhere with her, but its…there's a lot of opportunity out there and I think, well I think it might be good. To get out of Riverdale."
"Jughead, I get it. You don't have to explain it to me, I know you can do so much. I know you will. I'm so proud of you."
His heart drops a little when his son says, "You are?"
F.P. scoffs into the plastic phone, "God, of course, Jug. All the shit stacked against you, everything you could've done different but didn't. Kid, you could've just been me. But you're gonna be so great."
Jug is quiet for a moment. "I'd be far away."
"There's still phones, Jug. And snail mail." This gets a smile out of the newly minted adult. "Look, just keep me in the loop, okay? Do what you need to do, be the man you want, follow that girl as far as she'll let you. I just want you to be happy, Jug, after everything. Wherever that is."