Almost Infamous

by ButtonMashr

Story eight! Archie and the band are (finally!) going on tour. There is a lot of baggage in tow... including Jughead, their embedded journalist, and some familiar faces acting as security. After the events in story seven, they were all prepared for some known challenges, but the unexpected may give everyone a run for their money.

6. Chapter 6

Safely through another week (or two)! And here is a chapter!

The weather is so nice today, and I hope that is the case for you as well. It makes everything a little easier and a whole lot nicer when the sun is shining. :)

Natureliesbeneath, thank you for holding down the fort with your generous review! I love the red flags you're spotting (so many! So easy to see even when they may not actually be there, because so many ARE there!), and yay for Chloe. She's (perhaps obviously?) growing on me as well, and it's a little disappointing not to have her on tour (yet?) because she is becoming so much fun to write. Veronica is coming into her own in cool ways too, and I'm excited for her arc to continue developing. Good eye for Dax as well, though yeah, Jughead's a sucker for a thoughtful reader. :-D Jughead definitely has some stuff going on that he needs to keep an eye on (or Brand can keep an eye on, true!), and I'm interested in how all the competing stories and commitments will work for his cover, what with Alice's curiosity, Jughead's desire to hang out (the real problem keeping him from a vacation, right? :-D) and just general mayhem developing. That's amazing news from you, too - I'm so curious about your writing, and of course eager to read more chapters of your ongoing story. I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this chapter as well. :)

Enjoy!

-Button

00000

Jughead shoved open his hotel room door with one shoulder, scanning the hallway one last time as he did so – and then he sprang back from the room itself.

It was not a logical maneuver; the tour had secured this floor for the road crew and Archie's security, while the floor above was reserved for the bands and Breaking Fast's security. On his way to his room, Jughead had passed an alert man who no doubt worked under Dax.

Logic wasn't really the point, though. The last time he had stayed in a hotel had been… unpleasant… which meant that Jughead couldn't help feeling a little on edge. A precaution or two, silly or not, made him feel more proactive.

And, unfortunately, his paranoia was vindicated: Jughead stumbled even further backward with an involuntary yelp when he realized there was someone in the hotel room.

"Hey, it's just me! I'm sorry!" Archie had jumped too, no doubt because the door had sprung inward so abruptly and nearly hit him.

Archie looked terrified as he hurried into the hallway toward Jughead. "Oh, geez. Please don't pass out."

"I'm not going to-," Jughead was offended by the suggestion, but when he had to gasp for air mid-sentence he realized how dramatically his chest was heaving.

For the first time since the surgery, he was having a panic attack.

Archie grasped Jughead's shoulders; Jughead shook his head, hoping he was successfully conveying that he didn't need anything – just a few moments to catch his breath and collect himself.

Archie reluctantly let go and took a small step back.

Jughead lowered himself to the carpeting and leaned against the wall. Archie did the same, sitting down beside him.

Minutes ticked past in silence while Jughead caught his breath.

"So," Jughead began when he felt sure he would not have to stop and catch his breath again, "what brings you down to this floor? Besides the obvious entertainment value, I mean. And how did you get into my room?"

"Your dad," Archie said simply. "I wanted to talk to you so FP let me in with strict orders to wait until you arrived and then sneak out later."

Jughead frowned, but mostly in an attempt to hide a smile. Apparently his father had taken him seriously when he'd explained (again and again) how badly he wanted to spend time with his friends, even though the circumstances of the tour made that complicated.

"We'd better get in the room, then," Jughead said, motioning toward the now-closed door.

They opened it (less theatrically) and within moments were each sprawled on a queen sized bed.

"Brand is gonna kill you," Jughead said with a chuckle as he gestured for Archie to remove his shoes.

"Yeah, yeah," Archie replied, but he did kick off his sneakers. He let out a contented sigh as he fell back onto the bed. "So. How are you doing?"

"That's what you sneaked in here to ask?" Jughead felt laughter bubbling up inside of him again. It must be a reaction to the panic and then relief of finding someone in his hotel room – and then realizing that it was his best friend.

"Yeah, kind of," Archie had a laugh in his voice too, which meant that if they weren't careful this was going to devolve very swiftly into yet another session of them cackling like hyenas at everything the other said.

Which might not be the worst outcome, Jughead reflected, still snickering.

"I do want to know. How are you?" Archie's tone sobered a bit and he raised himself onto one elbow so that he could look over at Jughead. "Brand isn't pulling anything, is he? Your dad's keeping an eye on him? You have to be straight with me; I can't be finding out later that-,"

"I'm fine. Brand's fine. And my dad is keeping an eye on everyone," Jughead said, still laughing in spite of Archie's attempt to make the conversation more serious. "Nothing's going on except basically everything going on all at once. Which you already know about."

Archie considered this thoughtfully, and then nodded once. "Okay. I believe you're not under duress and just saying that."

"Gee, thanks." Jughead shot Archie a look.

"It's not like you don't have a track record," Archie said mildly; he was staring at the ceiling, so it was difficult to read his expression.

Jughead frowned.

Two versions of this conversation suddenly spooled out in Jughead's imagination, and he could very easily see them following either script: one where they resumed laughing and catching up, or another where they swiftly escalated into a shouting match that would only avoid coming to blows because Jughead was still recovering from surgery.

This – whatever Jughead chose to say next – seemed like the fork in the road for one of those two outcomes.

Jughead sighed heavily, relaxing his shoulders and forcing down the frustration that had surged up within him. It wasn't like he was innocent, anyway: he harbored the same suspicions about his mother and Richard. "Sure, Archie. But not this time. I swear."

"Good."

Archie sounded satisfied, so Jughead was pretty sure they were about to have conversation number one. That was a relief. Jughead had some funny stories to tell him, too, now that they had some time alone.

"So-o-o… as long as you're sure that everything is cool, maybe you can tell me how you manage being at the center of everything all of the time without going insane?" Archie smiled disarmingly over at Jughead as he spoke, but his question was loaded enough to preempt any further thought of storytelling.

And something told Jughead that this was the real reason Archie was here in his hotel room.

"Feeling like the eye of Sauron is resting too heavily on you?" Jughead cracked, hoping to maintain any vestige he could of the lightness they'd had so recently.

"More like… the press, the band, the public, my family, and even my best friends are, you know, watching me. Watching out for me, I mean." Archie shrugged and bit his lip. He hesitated before asking the question that he'd been leading up to: "Do you ever feel like you don't deserve it?"

Jughead was surprised by how direct the question was – and he was not entirely sure how to answer. "That's… a tough question. I mean, people are watching you and watching out for you. I get that; it's good but also a lot of pressure at the same time. You can't be screwing things up, and you also feel like you need to earn it."

"Only you never even bother trying to earn it." Archie sounded impressed. "How do you do that without feeling guilty?"

Jughead felt himself wincing, hard. "Wow. Say what you really mean, Archie," he said with a stiff laugh.

Archie seemed confused by Jughead's reaction; he was silent for a few long seconds.

"Archie, I try to live up to it. I feel incredibly guilty that I do such a bad job that you can't even tell that I'm trying," Jughead added. Hopefully this would set the record straight. "But let's face it: I've screwed up and need help so many times that it's probably impossible to earn my keep unless I can cure cancer and bring about world peace at the same time."

Archie snorted, amused, and Jughead laughed lightly as well.

"But what else am I supposed to do?" Jughead continued. "Lay down and die? Or maybe I could tell Brand 'no, this time let whatever comes along take me out, never mind all that you've invested in me. Oh, and tell my dad I don't love him enough to accept help because feeling indebted is just too awkward.'"

"It is awkward." Archie spoke quietly, fervently, and then lapsed into silence again.

"Anyway, that's me. It's different for you," Jughead offered. "People came for me because I accidentally – or stupidly – got into the middle of bad stuff. People come to you because you offer them something they want. Something they need, if you can believe the internet."

Archie couldn't hide a smile over that. As press coverage had ramped up ahead of the tour, Jughead had begun copying various comments he found online and forwarding them to his best friend with teasing commentary. Some of them were insane, and all of them were hilarious.

"You're going out there and performing tomorrow. With your band. Playing your music." Jughead shook his head in wonderment. "That is insanely cool, even if it's not curing cancer and causing world peace. This tour exists because of you and all the other musicians. All those people watching you are here because you have a gift that you share with them every time you play. Me, on the other hand? I can barely walk right now, so I'm definitely paying anyone back for anything. I'm not even living up to-,"

"Hold up." Archie interrupted firmly. "You can barely walk?"

"Um. Slight exaggeration. Very slight." Jughead gave Archie a serious look. "I'm in my room now because I was going to keel over if I spent too much longer on my feet. Which means I can't even keep my end of the deal with-,"

"Whoa." Archie interrupted Jughead a second time. "So, um… what if you weren't able to walk?"

Jughead blinked, confused.

"I mean it," Archie said, his tone suddenly urgent. "What if everything happened exactly the way it did, only something went wrong and you couldn't walk now? At all. Permanently."

"Uh…" Jughead felt about as coherent as he had when meeting Dax. "What are you talking about?"

"Would Brand just pull up stakes and leave?" Archie raised himself onto his elbows and sounded like he was on a hunt now. "Would your dad go back to the Southside and start drinking again? Would the FBI bail on your internship?"

Jughead felt sick for a moment. He still hadn't told his best friends about the internship ending.

"Well?" Archie asked, but his voice was gentler even though he was insisting on an answer.

"I guess… I don't know," Jughead managed.

"Oh my god, now you're not living up to expectations," Archie exclaimed in exasperation. "Of course they wouldn't! You're insulting all of us by even thinking that's a possibility."

Jughead winced over the outburst, but Archie continued:

"You're telling me you can't see that Brand and FP would do a million hours of research and – oh, I don't know – get you an exoskeleton or something? Probably one that can do martial arts. Then they'd enroll you in a ton of training so that in six months or less you'd be winning trophies at exoskeleton-ing."

"At what?" Jughead was still bewildered, but he couldn't help laughing at the bizarre turn the conversation was taking. "What did you just say?"

"You know what I mean," Archie said, and now he was a little smug. "It's not about repaying people."

"Thank heavens, because exoskeleton-,"

"Shut up. You know what I mean," Archie repeated, laughing. "But you need to get it, too."

Jughead thought about it for a few moments. Somehow it made sense, and somehow it made him feel warm from within. "Yeah, okay. I get it. But all of that applies to you too."

"Oh, so you mean it's not about my magical music bringing in the big crowds after all?" Archie asked, still chuckling.

"Not entirely. Most of us are here because we care about you. So even if you were tone deaf-,"

"Oh-ho, if I were tone deaf? Even then? You'd still be setting up a tour, signing on to travel with me, and-," Archie broke off, laughing harder.

"We-ell. Maybe not then." Jughead laughed along with his best friend. "Can you imagine what I'd have to write?"

"'He tries really hard,'" Archie intoned.

"'He means so well,'" Jughead responded in the same tone.

"'He puts in a lot of hours.'"

"'And his hair looks great.'"

They dissolved into laughter as they each tried to outdo the other with examples of insultingly faint praise.

Jughead was feeling short of breath, but this time in a good way, when the door to the hotel room suddenly opened.

Both teens immediately fell silent.

"Don't even try to play dumb. I could hear you both from the elevator," Brand declared as he entered the room. "This is not what FP described in his very strict orders for you not to blow our boy's cover."

Archie shrugged expansively, chuckling again now that they knew it was just Brand. "Wrong as usual, Brand. Jughead didn't do anything to blow my-,"

"Huh. I love that you think a paycheck makes you my first priority." Brand smirked. Archie looked startled by his words, and more than a little perturbed. "I will, however, be walking you back to your room. Right now. The story is that you came to my room because we were conferring on matters of tour security, got it? Now move."

Archie's eyebrows lowered and he shot Jughead a frustrated look, but he slid to the edge of Brand's bed and began pulling his sneakers back on.

"And don't even try to pretend those filthy shoes were not all over Jones' bed."

Jughead opened his mouth to protest that his bed was the one further from the door, but Brand was already waving him over to the bed that, yes, Archie's shoes had been on for, like, a minute. But still.

"I don't need to know the details, but that bed is now yours." Brand scowled at the two teens for a moment longer, but then he seemed to relent. "Here." Brand held out a paper bag to Jughead. It had the top folded over.

"Ooh, nice," Jughead could smell the contents as he accepted the bag. "Leftovers?"

"Seconds," Brand corrected. "Eat up. You can't slack off on body-re-building now that we're on the tour; you're under more stress now, so that would be asinine."

Jughead attempted to shoot Archie a look of solidarity now that they were both being picked on by Brand, but Archie was giving Brand an approving look. Rats.

"He looks better. But still pretty terrible," Archie said.

"Yeah, I could only do so much in the short amount of time I had to work with." Brand was frowning down at Jughead once again. "Get off of my bed while you eat."

Jughead decided to have the fight about the beds later, in private. He obediently moved to the desk and opened the bag. "Want some, Archie? This is enough for an army."

Jughead pulled a burger from the bag and held it out to his best friend.

"Nah, man, you need it." Archie waved it off. "I ate earlier, at the venue. And I've gotta call my dad sometime tonight, so I probably should get going."

"Oh, uh-," Jughead checked the clock. "Wait about an hour? I'll get him off by then."

Both Archie and Brand fixed Jughead with a disbelieving stare.

"He texted me to say that he'd call-,"

"Yeah. Okay." Archie gave Jughead a tight smile. "An hour. I can do that."

"Eat something before you get on any calls. You need sleep, too, so we'll just see about that hour." Brand ran a hand through his hair with agitation. "First things first, though."

"After you," Archie said with a sweeping motion toward the door. "And hey, Jughead, you can come interview me tomorrow. Maybe around when we eat dinner, but before we start getting ready for the concert? That way-,"

"We'll see," Brand interrupted. He was shaking his head as he led Archie through the hotel door, but Jughead could tell that he was smiling. "You'll have to run the dinner menu by me first."

"Whatever you want. We could get steaks from-,"

The door closed, cutting off the rest of Archie's suggestion, but Jughead could hear Brand's tone of approval as they moved away down the hall.

Steak was apparently on the menu for tomorrow.

Jughead took a big bite of the hamburger as he considered the apparent bonding between Brand and Archie over Jughead's health. Talk about awkward.

Well, it wasn't a bad thing. The enemy of Brand's enemy was at least an ally. For Archie, it even tended to be something closer to 'friend.'

Jughead snapped a selfie as he took another large bite of burger and then attached the picture as he tapped out a few texts to Betty. She was probably having fun settling into the hotel with Veronica and Alice, but Jughead hated that it was a whole lot harder to come up with pretexts to see her. This would have to do for tonight, and maybe he'd come up with something for the following day, maybe even getting her alone for a few minutes.

The next order of business was an E-mail to his mother. Gladys was responding warmly to any and all communications, which Jughead appreciated immensely – each one was proof of life, as well as proof of her continued well being.

That was only a few minutes' work, and by then Jughead was surprised to realize that he was almost halfway through the bag of protein-heavy leftovers that Brand had brought him.

Apparently he'd been hungry. Jughead kept waiting for his appetite to lessen now that he'd had the surgery, but it sure was taking a while.

Next he got onto his computer for the video call with Fred. At that point, Jughead estimated that Brand would be back any minute. That worked out; this was his last commitment of the evening, and then he could talk to his godfather about the security work with Dax before they went to sleep.

It was a good plan.

Jughead smiled as the call connected and Fred appeared on the screen; just seeing him was a relief, and felt much like checking the last box on his personal list of people he needed to keep an eye on.

"Wow. That looks good," Fred observed as he took in the sight of Jughead's impressive array of food. "I'm glad you're eating well."

"Oh, you have no idea." Jughead laughed.

"Well, why don't you fill me in?" Fred smiled warmly.

Jughead settled back contentedly. "Only if you tell me everything about the exciting world of PT."

Fred grinned. "Yeah. Sure. You got yourself a deal."

"Good." Jughead got a little more serious. "Any nightmares last night?"

Fred sighed heavily. "Well. Don't go talking about this to anyone else."

"That goes without saying," Jughead assured him. "So what was it this time?"

Fred began describing his nightmare. Jughead nodded along, making faces at some of the more brutal moments in the bad dream.

"What have you got for me, Jug?" Fred finally finished. "Am I a lost cause this time?"

"Oh, yeah," Jughead said with a quick grin. They both laughed. "Let me tell you mine first, though, because it's kind of a coincidence."

"Really?" Fred leaned forward. "You've got my attention."

Jughead began telling the bizarre dream to his friend, feeling his muscles relax as he explained random portions of it in more detail than he would have shared with anyone else – anyone who didn't understand exactly what he was going through.

"Wow." Fred was thoughtful, but then he cracked a smile. "Well, you certainly make me feel a lot more normal."

"Oh, thanks," Jughead shot back, grinning.

This was what therapy really ought to be like, he thought, as they began dissecting the dreams and their meanings, joking darkly along the way. This was what really helped.

And apparently Fred felt the same way. That made it even better.

Maybe this was how he was earning his keep, Jughead thought. Maybe this was what he needed to tell Archie about.

"Remember, this goes no further," Fred reminded Jughead, "but there was another weird thing in my dream."

Well. Maybe he would not be sharing this with Archie after all. Jughead would have to find another way to explain what it meant to just talk to others who were going through similar things – without mentioning Archie's dad, or anything that they talked about.

It would basically be the same. Jughead was sure it would help Archie figure things out.

00000

Sarah was pretty sure that she was forgetting something. It was early in the morning and she would be starting the several-hour drive to the hotel in just a few minutes. Today she would officially join everyone on the tour, arriving just an hour or so before her work would begin for the first concert of the tour. She did not have time to waste.

Only something felt off, and it was driving her nuts.

Sarah had finally decided to just walk back to the field office one more time since she could not shake the nagging feeling that she was overlooking something important.

The moment she started driving, she was certain, she'd remember whatever it was. Turning around and parking all over again would take far longer than a quick, memory-jogging circuit of her typical work areas on the floor, so she was hoping this would do the trick.

"'Scuse me," a small figure blurted as he darted past her on the sidewalk.

It was Max.

He was carrying a takeout cup that appeared to contain coffee.

Sarah stared after him as the small teen turned a sharp corner, narrowly avoiding Clark.

"Hey Max," Clark called after the swiftly-moving figure.

"Five minutes, Clark," Max called back without breaking stride – or spilling a drop of coffee.

"I was just saying hi. But yeah, sure, I'll be right over," Clark responded to Max, who gave a thumbs up over his head without looking back.

Sarah didn't need to leave right that second, she decided on the spot. She folded her arms and waited for Clark to acknowledge her.

"Good morning, Agent Quinn." Clark gave Sarah one of his broadest smiles and flipped his hair back out of his eyes in a casual motion that would not have been out of place in a shampoo ad.

It really was not a mystery why a number of colleagues, both in Virginia and locally, had begun eyeing the former intern with interest now that he was transitioning into an official role with the FBI.

"Did you want to talk about carpooling?" Clark sneaked a quick glance at his cellphone, checking the time. "I've got my car."

Sarah blinked at him and shook her head. She'd have to figure out what on earth he meant by that cryptic statement later; there was a far more pressing question at the moment. "What is Max doing?"

Clark looked back toward where Max had just disappeared, as if he'd completely forgotten about the bizarre interaction that Sarah had just witnessed.

"He's making coffee," Clark said, as if that was not only obvious but also completely normal.

"Why?" Sarah's tone made it clear that this was not in any way normal or expected behavior for someone like Max to be engaging in just a block away from the field office.

"To make a little money?" Clark shrugged, but not to indicate that he was unclear on the details – he was shrugging in response to the censure in Sarah's tone. "Is that… a problem?"

"Well, I don't know. How old is he? Who exactly is employing him?" Sarah gave Clark a look.

"Eh, it's not like that. He's got the coffee equivalent of a lemonade stand, that's all, across the street from the entrance I use. It's a good business model, since beating out the coffee we have on site isn't a challenge, and he talks a good game about saving for college-," Clark broke off as he saw Quinn's expression harden. "Wait, am I missing something? Is this bad?"

"This is not great," Sarah heard sarcasm in her tone and tried to tamp it down before she continued.

"This is a child who has been manipulated and forced into labor before," Sarah managed to say more levelly; it might really be very minor if all it involved was a few people who had him pouring an occasional cup of joe and tossed him a buck or two.

However, chances were that Max had found himself a new gig.

"Is he actually earning enough to make a dent in his theoretical college bills?" Sarah reminded herself that Clark was not privy to the behaviors they'd been working on with Max, and the young teen's uncanny ability to work an angle until it cried uncle. For that reason, of course this didn't ring alarm bells for him the way it did for anyone who was read into the debriefing and counseling process. Knowing what Max's goal was might give Quinn a clue about how serious the situation might be.

Although, again, it was probably okay. After all, if it was getting out of hand, it would have set off alarms for everyone at the field office.

"He's made a few bucks," Clark said slowly. Cautiously. "Max isn't actually saving for college, though. We talked about some things, and he's currently saving up for three professional outfits, a car, and first, last, and deposit for an apartme-,"

"He wants what?" Quinn's eyes bugged out as she spat the words. That was oddly specific and a whole lot more than she'd expected. 'A bike' might have been excessive, let alone a car. "And you didn't think this was likely to be a problem? How much are people tipping him?"

"Well, I mean, Max asked me what he'd need to make a start as a professional. That's what we came up with as a longer-term goal for him. I don't think he was trying to make it all in a few weeks or anything," Clark sputtered. He looked scared now. "Was I, um, not supposed to talk to him about that kind of stuff?"

"That depends. Is he or is he not making that kind of money?" Sarah found herself unable to calm down, even though Clark's words were probably a reasonable explanation – maybe this was all fine – though that still depended on what kinds of amounts were changing hands.

"Uhhh, he's probably making some bank?" Clark's voice went up as if it was a question. He looked uncomfortable, but perhaps also a little proud when he continued. "People like him. Max has some serious hustle."

Sarah wanted to shake Clark or maybe yell at him for seeing – and yet completely missing – the problem.

She also had a competing urge to hug Clark. The former intern still somehow only saw so much of the good in people. He also took more responsibility for Max than he needed to; the teen had worked a little of his magic on him, Sarah knew.

Nevertheless, endearing as it might be, this sort of response was not going to help Max in the long run.

"Well, let's just figure out the basics first: is it even legal? And is it teaching Max good long-term lessons about who he can trust, the basis for his own value to those around him, or even-,"

Sarah saw Clark bite his lip uncomfortably and she broke off. This was neither the time nor the place for this lecture.

"You know what? I'll talk to SAC Wilson before I leave today. You won't have to handle a thing," Clark said gently.

His change in demeanor was odd. Sarah stared at him for a few moments before she realized what was going on.

Oh. Wow. Clark was trying to calm her down. He was trying to talk her down.

Sarah did a quick replay of the conversation in her mind. Was she overreacting? Was she overreacting enough to need to be 'talked down'?

Maybe.

"I'll take responsibility for investigating the situation, Agent Quinn. I know the SAC will help handle it." Clark was picking up speed and he made a move as if to usher Sarah toward the parking lot. "You're not even supposed to be in today. I know I need to hit the road soon too, but I'll make sure the SAC knows exactly what's going on before I head out."

Clark looked increasingly earnest and worried as he spoke.

Perhaps more worried about Sarah's sanity than about Max, though.

And maybe Clark was not wrong. Sarah felt a flush of embarrassment. This break might be more necessary than she'd realized; she was pretty sure she was right, and yet it felt as though she was actively losing faith in her own judgment.

It was time to get out of the field office and start getting her head on straight again. It was past time, really.

Although there was one more question she needed answered first. "Uh, why exactly are you hitting the road, Clark?" Quinn asked.

"Oh! I thought you knew. I am being sent on the tour as well. I'm supposed to help Agent Sherman liaise with Special Agent Davies, since that's apparently been difficult. That way Agent Sherman will be freed up to focus on figuring out who got into Special Agent Davies' hospital room," Clark declared, this time with an unmistakable note of excitement in his voice. "I'll be on site, making observations and reporting back. Because I have insights."

Sarah stared at him; it was true that Clark knew Davies better than most at the field office, but it was also probably a gross misuse of Clark's time. From what Sarah understood, Clark was managing a workload that put even Sarah's grueling pace to shame.

"I see. Agent Sherman got frustrated with Davies – no surprises there – and decided to dump this portion of his job on you." That figured.

"Oh, um, no – I basically volunteered. I'm getting some time off over the holidays and I just turned in a paper, so it's all good," Clark said quickly, clearly reading her expression correctly. "It should be fun."

Fun.

Yeah, all of this had used to be fun for Sarah too.

She allowed Clark to wave her along, wishing her smooth driving as he did so, and moments later she was heading to her car.

Sarah couldn't help thinking about Clark's words as she reflected on the prospect of joining Davies and the band on tour… perhaps her work would be fun again.

Maybe even soon.

Clark would not be a depressing reminder of how gung ho she'd used to be, Sarah resolved. He'd serve as inspiration that it could be that exciting again.

Sarah felt a small smile cross her face at the thought as she navigated her vehicle out of the parking lot.

As she turned onto the road, she turned on the radio and was delighted to feel wave after wave of relief play over her as her muscles gradually relaxed.

Chloe had been right. Brand had been right.

Sarah needed this.

00000

"Oh my goodness, they are gorgeous." Veronica felt herself gushing, but it was hard not to; Alice was lifting costume after costume from garment bags and each one was stunning.

There were far too many for their one brief tour, and that was a travesty. These were meant to be seen, worn, and brought to life.

"Yay!" Alice clapped her hands. "I'm so glad you like them. If you don't like any of them, you need to tell me exactly what's wrong. I'm taking notes and I'm going to make, like, an algorithm and learn exactly what you like."

"Algorithms imitate human learning." Gunnar leaned back in his chair so far that it looked like it was about to fall over backward. He was watching Alice with a fascination that made Veronica uncomfortable.

"I will imitate them imitating us, and I will do it better," Alice vowed with a flourishing motion of her hands for emphasis.

She did not seem uncomfortable at all.

Hmmm. Maybe Veronica did not need to worry about complications arising between Alice and Sweet Pea.

"Who can photograph this for us?" Alice wondered aloud. "Would Jughead do it? I think he's got the right equipment."

"There are photographers on the tour," Veronica supplied. Nothing good would come of dragging Jughead into any more commitments.

"Mmm, but will they do what I want?" Alice asked, and Veronica hoped that was rhetorical since she did not have a response.

"Of course they will." Gunnar was smirking. "Otherwise you'll algorithm 'em to death."

"Fair." Alice cocked her head to one side. "That can be plan A. Jughead is backup, though. I hope he remembered to pack his camera."

Veronica reminded herself that Mary Andrews had squelched all talk of another benefit concert; surely she'd be able to shut down this plan to enlist Jughead for photography duties. "You could always ask Mrs. Andrews what the plan is. That way you could coordinate with her."

"Great idea!" Alice was excited all over again. "She felt really badly about the benefit thing not working, so she really wants to hear about any other ideas we have."

Veronica thought that sounded a whole lot like a gentle brush-off, but she was not about to say that to Alice.

"I can take photos too," Betty offered. "I know a little bit."

Ooh. That was actually a great idea.

Betty did not know 'a little bit,' as Veronica happened to know – her best friend had been working on mastering photography for some time, since that was a very helpful skill for any journalist to possess. With Jughead's increased interest in photography, Betty had used her camera less lately… but she still had a nice one and Veronica had long thought that her friend had an excellent eye.

"Would you?" Archie asked before Veronica could speak up in support of the idea. "I loved those photos you took of Ronnie last fall." Yeah, those had been nice; Veronica had felt downright vain when she'd seen them. "You get a shot like that of the whole band and we might have another album cover."

Betty lit up at the thought. "That would be incredible."

"It so would!" Alice looked from Archie to Betty approvingly. "And now you have your official role for the tour: writer-slash-photographer. Perfect!"

Oh. Veronica froze as she considered the full implications of what Alice had just said: apparently she had been actively looking for an official role for Betty on the tour. Of course; that made perfect sense.

Only Veronica should have been working on that. She should have thought of that. Instead, Veronica had been so wrapped up in her own changing role with the band that she'd simply been pleased and relieved that Betty could come at all.

The thought hit her like a splash of cold water: she was becoming self-absorbed.

Well. If that was the case, it was definitely time to change things. Veronica looked from Alice to Archie to Betty and then to Gunnar. Kevin would join them in an hour or so.

That gave Veronica five people to consider. She might not have the official role that she'd wanted, but, she resolved silently, she could unofficially do what she could to make this tour special for each and every one of them.

A buzz in her pocket interrupted Veronica's thoughts. She pulled out her cellphone and scanned a lengthy text from her mother, asking when she and 'the girls' would be free to meet and discuss their training.

That was random; Veronica had thought any training would be put on hold for the duration of the tour.

Another text followed:

'Agent Sarah is joining the tour, so I plan to ask if she can exercise with us during the early mornings.'

Ah. 'Exercise' was apparently code.

Well, Veronica would be happy to coordinate this too. It would be good for morale, bonding, and even for their overall health.

'Give me two hours. We'll meet you at our room,' Veronica texted back, referring to the room that the three girls were sharing. She was smiling as she rejoined the conversation about photographing each of the band members in their newly-completed costumes.

"Kevin doesn't have anything this fancy yet. Maybe I can do some more work on his over the next few days?" Alice looked worried. "Or would changing his look mid-tour just be weird?"

"O-or he can contrast with the rest of the band; keep his look simple, but make his costumes really slick?" Veronica suggested. "It could even be thematic, since his vocals are so different from ours."

"Yes!" Gunnar surprised everyone with his enthusiastic shout. He pointed at Veronica emphatically and was abruptly more animated than he had been at any other point during the meeting. "Now that is brilliant. He'll be moving on and off of stage, too, so making him look sort of ghostly-,"

"Ethereal," Alice interrupted. "That's what we need."

"Yeah, sure. Ethereal." Gunnar conceded, giving Alice a teasing look. "Work your magic. But be sure to make it magic. That will be awesome."

"Epic," Archie agreed, but he was looking at Veronica proudly. "That sounds epic."

Veronica flushed happily. Okay; she was doing something right.

She just needed to do more of that. As long as she was contributing, as long as things kept going well and productively, then everything would be okay.

"There's something else that I think would be epic too," Archie continued, his tone full of anticipation. "Do you remember that cover we were practicing that I said would be perfect for the tour?"

"Oh no, not this again," Gunnar groaned. "We already discussed all the reasons that's a non-starter."

"No, seriously - hear me out," Archie insisted. "I think we could do something really cool with it. We'd just need some help."

"What kind of help?" Veronica made sure to sound supportive, even though she recalled vividly the objections Gunnar had raised to doing the cover. It was long, just for starters. "Maybe... depending on what you have in mind... we could make it work."

"Oh no," Gunnar covered his eyes dramatically. "You're planning to vote me down, two to one. I can already see it-,"

"Kevin can weigh in. If he doesn't like it, we won't do it," Archie offered swiftly. "And honestly, it won't work if we aren't all into it. I need you to be onboard, man, or I'm just going to have to table the idea."

Gunnar sighed, but it sounded more resigned than upset to Veronica.

"Please?" Archie studied Gunnar, even though the other teen's face was still obscured by his hands. "Could we try it out once and see how it goes?"

"Ugh. Maybe. Depending on how epic your idea is, I might consider it." Gunnar peeked through his fingers. "Just once, though. And if everyone gets mad, I'm telling the entire world that it was your idea."

"Deal." Archie grinned.

"What do we need to do?" Veronica asked, pleased that everyone was surprisingly game to work together. Going on tour seemed to be bringing out the best in their dynamics, which was unexpected - and a relief.

"We need to talk to FP first," Archie said. "Here's my idea..."

00000

Brand woke up late – and exceptionally relaxed.

Maybe that made sense; some good things had happened.

It had somehow been heartwarming to see Jones and Andrews making idiots of themselves, and it had been reassuring to hear that Archie had his head on straight about the long road that the kid had ahead of him with his recovery.

Jones, for his part, had eaten everything Brand had shoved in his direction and then fallen asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. He'd been a crumpled, snoring heap by the time Brand had gotten back to the hotel room.

Sarah Quinn had sent a series of texts about details when she'd arrived at the hotel. They would meet up around noon – with Jones as a built-in buffer for the duration of the tour –, and Sarah had seemed to be in higher spirits than Brand recalled her being in since she'd learned about his criminal past.

The calm wouldn't last, because it never did, but so far the start of the tour seemed to have an aura of everything being in its place.

Brand appreciated that. He didn't often sleep in, and the extra rest felt fantastic.

The kid had seized his opportunity and scrammed, of course; Jones had likely been well rested since he'd fallen asleep by the time Brand had finally gotten back to their room the night before, and he wasn't about to miss a chance to get out from under Brand's scrutiny.

That was reassuringly normal teenage behavior.

Brand hadn't been sure whether he'd be able to take his successes and build from them – gaining more autonomy and working toward ever greater independence – or if Jones was going to go back to shutting himself in and craving Brand and FP's physical presence.

Every attempt the kid made to evade the adults was a relief.

Not that Jones' successes getting out from under the wolf pack's protection didn't make Brand nervous on a host of levels; he wouldn't completely mind it if the kid had wanted him within arm's length for a while. There were real problems and threats, after all, and the only way Brand knew to protect him was by arming the kid – with skills if not actual weapons – and by sticking close.

So it was a mixed bag, but on the whole it was simpler when the threat came from outside of the wolf pack.

Brand liked things simple. He liked just needing to know where to aim.

He couldn't let the kid know any of this, though.

Brand would be sure to give him an earful once he found the runt, and no doubt he'd have to secure a second and maybe a third breakfast to try and keep the scant muscle on the kid that remained at this point.

That surgery might have worked, but Brand wasn't sure he was seeing enough change in the kid's metabolism and condition to be sure that they could call it a complete success.

A knock on his door interrupted Brand's thoughts. Good; hopefully it was Jones, carrying a platter of continental breakfast so massive that he was unable to work his key card.

Brand opened the door brusquely, radiating annoyance for the kid's benefit.

"Thank God you're both here." FP pushed his way into the room with a relieved sigh.

"Well, actually-,"

"Hold on. Where is Jughead?" FP turned on his heel when he realized Jones was not visible in the room. "Is he showering?"

The bathroom was conspicuously silent, effectively answering FP's question, but Brand still shook his head. "I just woke up. He left the room sometime this morning-,"

"Going where?" FP's expression was somewhere between disbelieving and panicked. "He had no reason to go to the venue early, did he?"

"No. None." Brand was at least completely clear on that; they had no obligations that would bring them back to the hall until late in the afternoon.

FP slumped in relief as if those words were enough to cut off his supply of adrenaline. "Okay. That's good. We should find him, though."

"What's going on, FP?" Brand was pretty sure it was serious, whatever it was, based on how scattered and distracted FP seemed to be.

"Shots were fired."

"Wait, what? At the venue?" Brand frowned; that did not make sense. "Is there even anyone there at this hour of the morning?"

"Yes." FP inhaled deeply. "The app is lighting up. None of our people are there, but plenty of folks attached to the tour are working on some kind of special effects stuff."

"You're kidding me." Brand moved swiftly through the small room, getting himself ready. "The one time I sleep in."

"What are you doing?" FP frowned down at Brand when he crouched to pull his duffel out from under his bed. "What is– whoa. How many guns did you bring?"

"Enough, I hope. Find the kid. Let me know when you have him," Brand instructed as he armed himself. "Don't forget, I'm law enforcement. Sort of. I'm getting over there and making sure whatever it was is over and done with."

One more thing occurred to him.

"Leave here discreetly. It may turn out that there is nothing going on and someone wanted to know where everyone headed in case of a crisis," Brand waved an arm at the room he shared with Jones and watched FP blanch as he realized what a giveaway coming directly here had been, "in which case they just hit pay dirt. Maybe. Let's not give them two opportunities to realize you came here, huh?"

"Yeah." FP massaged his eyes. "I'll make sure the hall is clear before I leave."

"Good. I'll go make sure this tour isn't over before it's begun." Brand didn't hesitate any longer. If this was real, seconds might matter.

00000

That did not take long. :-D I'll look forward to any and all thoughts, speculations, and reactions. I hope you are all well and looking ahead to a wonderful weekend! Thank you as ever for reading along. It means the world.

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