Author's note: Full disclosure, I have a very minimal concept of the prison system despite taking Intro to Criminal Justice my freshman year. Its possible all of this is highly inaccurate, but its okay! Also we're approaching the end, but I have news: I've been working on a coda collection for this story. I'm thinking it'll be a series of one shot's that fill in the empty spaces and explain more context, so much more detail and dialogue. I shit you not, I have a prompt list with 35 topics I want to write; I already wrote quite a few. I think I'll start a collection for each year, and leave them open-ended for whenever inspiration strikes. Anyway, 2018 is the only year broken up in to 2 chapters, as a LOT happens. I love writing F.P. Jones. Enjoy!

04.19.2018

There's no visit from Jughead. He'd been trying to come once a month since telling his dad about the baby. F.P. worries a little when the previous week yielded no phone call, and again when Saturday came and went and he never showed.

So when Jug picks up on the fourth ring today, he's relieved. But his son sounds a bit frazzled on the line.

"Fuck, Dad, I'm sorry, we've been a bit all over the place," In a small loft in Brooklyn, Jughead watches his very pregnant wife grimace, realizing how he'd totally forgotten about his father in the blur of the week. "We've been trying to get the baby's stuff all together, and Betty has had these, like fake contractions? Then our anniversary was Saturday, and my deadline got moved forward. I just…This kid is gonna be here before we know it and I feel like we are never going to have our shit all the way together in time for him."

F.P. makes a mental note about their anniversary date; neither he nor Alice had ever been told many details about that day four years ago. He smiles and says, "Its fine Jug, I figured you'd be getting busy as the day gets closer. Just wanted to make sure everything was okay."

"Everything's perfect. Crazy, but perfect," Jughead pauses, and F.P. hears him mumble a be right back, sweetheart to Betty. "Hey, Dad, can I ask you something?"

His heart freezes for a moment, considering this moment as his adult son, a father-to-be, asks something of him. Suddenly F.P. is strikingly aware of how unfit he is to advise his son in this next chapter of his life. "Hate to break it to you Jug, but I'm not exactly the best resource for fatherly advice."

"No, its not that," there's shuffling on the line. "Well, maybe it is, but you're the only person who can really answer it anyway."

"Okay…"

"Do you," Jughead sighs. "When you gave me your name, did you…what did you mean by it, when you chose it?"

F.P. is quiet for what feels like forever. He's been thinking about fathers and sons a lot since Christmas. He shouldn't be surprised, with a name like theirs, that this question comes up.

He pushes a big breath out of his lungs, suddenly more nervous than he's been in years.

"Honestly Jug, I didn't give it too much thought," his chest feels tight with emotion. "I guess I wanted you to make it better. Maybe I wanted to give you a piece of me, something to carry on when I couldn't be...when I couldn't be there. But it wasn't supposed to be damning for you. Even if I did think that…you're nothing like me, kid, in all the best ways. And if you're worried about giving your boy this name, if you're worried you're passing on bad luck, don't be. I, well damn, obviously I ran with the shitty reputation of our name, but you broke the mold, son, if there was one to break. You've done so many good things, Jug. If you want to give him this, its not like, its nots making him like you; although if he's half the man you are, he'll be better than most."

There's silence, F.P. inhales. "Were you thinking about it? For him?"

Jughead nods on his end of the call, but doesn't tell him they'd already picked their son's name, only saying that Betty had brought it up.

06.05.2018

F.P. is tapping his heel nervously, sitting at the same metal table he'd shared with Jughead his first Christmas at Shankshaw. Mary Andrews had reached out to him wanting to meet, but hadn't given him a reason. He's not sure what could be wrong, but he's been awaiting this meeting all week.

"F.P., relax. I have good news," she smiles, looking like the same perky girl from high school for a brief moment, despite having aged. "I was contacted by the Warden last week about you. He said you've been an exceptional prisoner."

He nods. This is true. He's kept his head down, stayed out of trouble. The biggest issue had been his liver transplant, but that wasn't really a negative, just an inconvenience. He'd finished a tech program the year before, and was now working in the technical shop, doing electrical work. Since the transplant, he goes to the AA meetings, and had started doing yoga, much to Alice's amusement.

Mary continues, "Well, he and the board think you would be an excellent candidate to finish your time on parole."

Oh.

F.P. had spent the last seven and a half years preparing to spend twice that time locked up. He hadn't even dreamed of parole, not wanting to be idealistic. The possibility to get out now, with the birth of his first grandson to happen any day, its a lot to process.

Mary can see he's a little shocked and lays a hand on his arm before continuing, "It'll be about a three month process, F.P. You'll have to keep up the good behavior, but that shouldn't be hard. There will be three hearings, you'll advocate for yourself, because I can't be there with you. But we'll put together all the information showing how well you've done, the testimonies to your character I've asked Alice and Fred to prepare, and a statement from Cheryl Blossom. She wants to speak on your behalf; she's actually the one who approached the Warden. She doesn't think you should pay for her father's crimes any longer."

He's not even really sure which piece of information to tackle first. Completely speechless, he just looks at Mary Andrews, this woman who helped raise his son. She leans in and squeezes his arm.

"Look, F.P., I know this is all so much to hear," she begins, "but I think you should know you deserve this. You've done your time. And now, you have so much to see when you get out. We're so proud, so excited about Jughead and Betty. Just think about that, that baby? You'll get to be there for that. You're not going to have to miss much more, you're not going to have to miss out on him."

They wrap up their meeting, with Mary telling him to anticipate weekly calls as they move through the process.

Before she leaves, she tells him one more thing, "I haven't told Jughead yet, I didn't want to cause too much commotion with the baby coming. So if you hear from him, you should let him know. Fred, Alice, and I don't think its our news to share anyway."

C.O. Peters is walking him back to his cell when C.O. Lewinsky stops them. "Damn, Jones, its about time. You missed your phone call."

"I wasn't expecting a call today."

Lewinsky claps him on the shoulder, "I know. So don't you go telling anyone we took a message for you, Jones, but it was your son. He said it couldn't wait. Oh, and that he's sorry he won't be able to call or visit the next few weeks."

Peters moves him forward, but not before the other C.O. slips a folded piece of paper into F.P.'s chest pocket.

Back at his bunk, he unfolds the note:

Forsythe Pendleton Jones IV

06/05/2018 03:13 a.m.

6 lbs 9 oz, 17 inches

On a Wednesday in June, F.P. cries in his cell. As he wipes at his eyes, he thinks to himself, this is the last thing I'll ever have to miss.

09.17.2018

He hasn't seen Jughead since May. With the new baby, its just not possible for him to travel from the city. They speak on the phone every week, sometimes in whispers while the youngest Jones sleeps on his father's chest.

They call him C.J. He doesn't ask Jug what it stands for, having found out from Alice it stands for "Cooper-Jones." Its an idea borne from a long running joke of Veronica's evidently, as she refused to acknowledge Betty's forfeiture of her maiden name, referring to anything related to Jug and Betty's marriage as "Cooper-Jones."

He had gotten an envelope of photos about a week after the birth. He'd been breathless in his bunk flipping through the pictures of his grandson. He has dark, thick hair, and blue-grey eyes. He's practically all Jones; F.P. sheds a few tears at the sight of his son gazing down at the baby, all the nerves and love of a new father clear in his grin. He thinks this might be the worst thing he missed.

Jughead calls the first time when C.J. is almost three weeks old. Tells him the entirety of the birth story, how Betty made it look easy, how their son had screamed out his first breath. He fills him in on the last several weeks of exhaustion, stories of late nights awake while Betty nurses and the way their baby likes to grasp fingers. The adoration in Jughead's voice is all F.P. ever wanted for his son.

He doesn't tell him about getting paroled.

The first hearing had gone smoothly. As did the second and third. Before he knows it, he's approved for parole. Alice worries its a mistake not to tell Jughead, but he needs to do this.

So today is his last day in prison. Tomorrow, he'll see his son.