Yay for another chapter! And it's sunny! (I'm not actually equally excited about those two things, but I'll let you guess which feels more amazing on this lovely Wednesday... :-D)
Skyrider45, thank you for your chapter - and for your lovely reviews! I'm loving Archie and Jug getting some time to reconnect too, and I am glad you enjoyed that scene. I also love that you've identified a theme of 'just enjoy yourself.' It would not have occurred to me to put it in those words, but that is perfectly summed up. :) Tour chaos, yay! And one more month is so doable (less now!). I'll be rooting for you!
LeafGreene01, thanks. :) That was a perfect reminder that you're here, and no pressure to comment (really!). I love knowing folks are reading and enjoying - and that nothing glitched for readers! -, and hearing what stood out to folks always gives me interesting insights as I write... but just an occasional awkward wave to say "yeah, I showed up" is amazing too. :-D
Natureliesbeneath, thank you for your chapter too! (I am so spoiled this time around!) I've so missed seeing Archie and Jughead get time to themselves too. They need more of that, and we do too. :) It is loaded, though I enjoyed sort of exploring where the land mines might be and where the ground is only more solid after everything. Yay for the sympathy for Sarah and the Max scenario! I was working through that and trying to hit the right spot between Sarah's burnout and Max's need for control and Clark's attempts to be useful to anyone and everyone, and I was just shaking my head too. People better do right by Max, though I guess we'll see how that all comes together. And yeah, Clark (and Chloe?) coming on tour is going to be so much fun. :) I hope you are well also, and that you find this chapter satisfying and exciting as well!
Enjoy!
-Button
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Earlier that morning
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"Man, they really saw you coming." Kiara laughed bitterly.
Jughead was confused and trying to catch up. Kiara's version of events did not match his own experience. Not even a little bit.
Dax had texted Jughead just before five am with instructions to meet him at the hall. It had been simple to sneak out of the room, since Brand was almost as exhausted as he regularly accused Jughead of being; he'd also seemed a lot more relaxed than usual, and it did not hurt that he had not slept in his usual spot between Jughead and the door – thanks to Archie's shoes.
Once Jughead met up with Dax, Ben, and Sam, they'd handed him a cup of steaming coffee, two black T-shirts that said Security in the same script he'd seen sported by the members of the team securing the floors in the hotel, and then given him a quick overview of their process, roles, and where he would now fit into the picture.
It sounded like Jughead would be doing the least taxing work, naturally, but his presence would free everyone else up to accomplish more in the process. Three of the security people he had yet to meet were not even in the building; Jughead being here was allowing at least one of them to sleep in.
That was cool. Jughead felt like a valuable part of the team already. Sipping the black coffee slowly, and silently planning to throw out the majority of it when he had the chance to do so discreetly – not to mention hoping that Brand would never find out that he'd consumed any of it –, Jughead felt himself grow more alert and more excited about this development in his role on the tour.
It was one thing for Brand and his dad to say that he was valuable and to give him busywork that supposedly freed them up to manage important missions; it was completely different to have that role given to him by professionals who had no reason to take on an inexperienced seventeen-year-old.
Jughead must really bring something to the table.
Only now Kiara had joined Jughead, and suddenly he was not so sure.
They were making their way through the venue to a side door, which was where the crew would be entering the building all morning and would need someone to give them access through the locked set of double doors.
As they navigated the dense warren of rooms and hallways, Kiara was presenting a very different version of the same events.
"I bet they told you they're keeping your skills a secret." Kiara's tone was mocking. "You'll never get to do anything, but just in case, won't it be so valuable when someone you've never met before tries something and they somehow – magically – don't naturally assume that a member of the security team is trained and knows what they're doing?"
Huh.
Jughead had to admit that a secret weapon wearing a security T-shirt did not make sense if he took the claim completely literally. But Dax hadn't seemed to mean it that way; he'd seemed to mean that they were keeping the extent of Jughead's abilities a secret.
Only… Dax didn't know the extent of Jughead's abilities. He thought that Jughead was brand-new to all of this, and hadn't asked about his training.
Hmmm.
Maybe Kiara had a point, and maybe Dax had just been giving scut work a very positive spin.
Hiding a small smile at the thought, Jughead studied Kiara. Maybe she'd never worked an internship or any other objectively terrible job before, but at this point Jughead was no stranger to paying his dues.
Having Dax make the effort to present that more palatably might seem disingenuous to Kiara, but from where Jughead was standing, it seemed… nice.
"It's cool," Jughead said simply. He shrugged lightly and smiled so that Kiara wouldn't take his statement as criticism of her perspective on the situation. "I'm not that experienced or anything, anyway."
Because Jughead had fallen asleep after his call with Fred – fully clothed and on top of his bed's comforter, no less – there had not been time to make a more detailed game plan with Brand for this set of circumstances, but Jughead knew that in general he was supposed to hide the extent of his training and do his best to channel someone who was in their first months of being introduced to security work.
Not that Jughead was entirely sure what was 'security work,' versus FBI work, versus Brand's special blend of Krav Maga and strategy.
So whatever he came up with might come out weirdly.
But nobody knew what Jughead's background was, and nobody had asked yet, so hopefully they'd all just fill in the blanks with something that made reasonable sense.
That was a Brand strategy.
The FBI was all about having an answer for any possible question at any moment, day or night. Brand swore by refusing to answer questions when he didn't know which answer might suit the asker best.
And, as Brand always reminded Jughead, refusing to answer was a very believable response to someone who was being nosy. It helped 'sell' a cover story by keeping it from sounding suspiciously pat.
Hopefully Kiara would feel that way. She was staring down Jughead through slitted eyes, though, which was not an encouraging sign.
"Well, I am," Kiara bit out harshly. "And now I'm stuck here with you, who apparently have no experience or training, as if I'm worth no more than whatever your last name qualifies you to do."
Uh.
Jughead was not ready for that conversation, even though SAC Wilson had warned him that some people could be very direct (read: aggressive) about the family name and any real or perceived privilege.
He probably should have asked the SAC some questions about how to deal with that.
Kiara continued staring at Jughead as he tried to come up with a response; her expression seemed to suggest that his silence was confirming every dark suspicion she harbored.
Nope; he had nothing.
Jughead was grateful when the space around them echoed with a sharp report; both of them jumped, and Kiara was potently distracted from pursuing that line of conversation any further.
Only then, when the sound came again – and again – Jughead realized what they were hearing.
After that, he reacted without thinking.
"Down. Quiet." Jughead grabbed Kiara by the shoulder and whirled her around so they had a view of the hallways spreading away from where they stood. He sized up their options in a moment and then turned back around and pulled her into the nearest room. There was an upright piano against the wall closest to the fired shots. It would hide them nicely, and with any luck be a completely unexpected hiding spot – until it was too late. "Get behind that piano-,"
"No." Kiara had gone deathly pale and she was speaking too loudly. "I'm unarmed. We're too exposed. We need to run-,"
"Yes." Jughead agreed swiftly, keeping his voice low. "And we will. When we have an opportunity to run out instead of in. The piano is our only cover and our best bet for getting behind whoever's firing shots if they come in here. Then we run."
"What if they see us? What if one comes in, but the others wait?"
Jughead hadn't thought of the possibility of it being multiple people. He frowned, wondering why he had not, but had nothing more than instinct to go on. "I only heard one gun, at least so far. We can rush one person. If we hear more guns, we'll reassess."
Kiara was staring at Jughead again, but this time in utter disbelief. She was shaking.
"Come on." Jughead grabbed Kiara's shoulder and moved her with him into position behind the piano.
It was not a moment too soon: the door flew open and several sets of footsteps ran into the room before the door was slammed shut once more.
Jughead felt a momentary rush of panic over the fact that there were definitely multiple people. Then he realized why the door had been slammed shut: the people were not shooters. They were running away from whoever had the gun.
Kiara was still pressed flush against the wall, but Jughead could tell that she was realizing the same thing.
Together, they stepped out of their hiding spot into the room. Three men had entered and were looking around themselves, either for an escape or a hiding place.
"How many shooters are there?" Jughead asked, ignoring the gasps and muffled cries that his sudden appearance elicited. "Has anyone called the police?"
"Yes." One man shakily held up his phone. "I'm on with them now. They're coming."
"There's one man. Or maybe it's… I don't know what," another man contributed.
"He's in the foyer. I thought there was a side door, but I got turned around in this freaking maze. What's the best way out of here?" The first man was staring at Jughead's brand-new security T-shirt. "Do you have a gun?"
"We aren't armed… and the way out is there," Jughead confessed, pointing at the door the men had just come through.
"But you should stay here, behind that piano," Kiara interjected firmly. She seemed to have overcome her initial fear response. "If the shooter gets past you, you'll have a clear path out. Otherwise, you need to rush him. Or her."
"Or it," the second man said nervously.
They must be in shock. Jughead was sympathetic and stepped forward with an air of authority. "She's right. Stay behind the piano. We'll go investigate."
There had not been another shot since the first ones were fired.
Jughead took a deep breath and started toward the door. The foyer was not far from here, and if he was quick in opening the door a crack, he could probably catch a glimpse of the situation without the door's movement attracting attention.
"Wait, we're going to do what? What are you doing? Dax is armed. We should wait here until he handles it," Kiara snapped. She grabbed Jughead more forcefully and yanked him back from the door.
Jughead was startled to realize that he didn't have the strength to resist. He was gradually regaining muscle, but his body seemed to have a mind of its own lately. Getting up early and skipping breakfast had not done him any favors.
"Dax isn't armed," Jughead corrected her, tugging against her grip in order to signal that he wanted her to let go – but also avoiding turning it into a test of strength that would let Kiara know that she was able to physically overpower him. Nothing good could come of that.
"How would you know if he was?" Kiara demanded.
Jughead frowned as he considered the situation further; he didn't have a great answer, except that he hadn't seen any sign of a concealed weapon on Dax – and that seemed like something he'd have noticed. "Look, regardless, Dax and the others might be hurt. If the shooter found them first…"
It wasn't the time to start speculating, but Kiara needed to get on board at least enough to let Jughead do what he needed to do, without interfering.
"Stay here; these three will do better if they have someone calling the sh… uh… someone making decisions," Jughead finished awkwardly.
Kiara nodded; she seemed only too glad to stay behind. Jughead was relieved when she let go of his shoulder.
Before it could occur to Kiara that she should be worried about Jughead calling attention to their location, he pulled the door open just a crack and then held it still. With any luck it would still appear to be closed from a distance.
Jughead crouched down and peered out through the crack.
The hall beyond was empty. It was lined with ornately decorated wood panels, punctuated with two heavy oak doors leading to what Jughead knew to be a janitor's closet and a large storage room full of old props and costumes from previous theater productions in the space.
Jughead's mind raced as he considered whether changing their location would improve their odds or merely serve to trap them further.
Before he could decide, however, a shadowy figure appeared at the far end of the hall.
Jughead finally understood what the one man meant by referring to the shooter as "it." As he watched, the swirling black figure seemed to undulate as it floated toward the primary theater space.
This was really, really bizarre.
As Jughead watched, the ghostly figure raised a gun and fired it twice more.
Wincing, Jughead waited for splinters to rain down from the intricately carved panels that lined the theater.
A second later, hands dropped onto his shoulders and two of the men in the room hauled Jughead backward while the third closed the door.
"Are you insane? He's shooting again!" Kiara hissed the words, finally managing to keep her voice down. "Do not open that door again, Cyrano."
"There has to be a way out through one of those doors." One of the men motioned toward the row of closets behind them. "A window. Something."
"There isn't," Jughead said absently; something was wrong – in addition to the painfully obvious things that were very wrong. "And it's entirely possible that we don't need one."
The men had released Jughead, but they flanked him and were obviously ready to restrain him again if they needed to. That was annoying, but understandable under the circumstances.
More importantly, Jughead had an idea of how he could deal with it.
Jughead took a deep breath – and sprinted toward the door.
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Brand found the side door, and it was - predictably - locked. It was also glass.
He hesitated. He really shouldn't be breaking stuff without knowing for sure what was going on.
As Brand mulled it over, three shots fired in quick succession from somewhere inside the building.
"Good enough for me," Brand muttered. He fired a single shot and both glass doors shattered spectacularly.
Tempered glass. Nice.
Brand smiled grimly as he entered the building and moved swiftly through the corridors.
His phone vibrated and Brand slipped it out to see if there was an update on the situation.
It was FP: 'Police en route. Jughead MIA.'
Brand shoved the phone back into his pocket with a silent curse and moved more swiftly. He hoped that it was impossible that his godson had woken up early, sneaked out to the venue, and survived everything life had thrown at him thus far only to die to crossfire in some bizarre haunting of a band the kid had never even met.
He really hoped it was impossible.
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Jughead found himself alone in the hallway, but he'd seen where the ghostly specter had been headed: into the main concert hall.
He felt his legs protesting, and Jughead spared a thought for Brand and FP lecturing him not to run, but he was pretty sure he could make it.
Besides, he had to. Otherwise someone might die.
Jughead skidded to a halt when he reached the first set of double doors that led into the seating area. He gasped for breath – even those few yards had completely winded him – and he had to use his body weight to throw the doors wide open.
Dax and Ben were standing in front of the stage.
"Hey!" Jughead whisper-shouted, waving to get their attention. He briefly considered moving toward them, but even as he thought about it his knees buckled and he had to grasp the back of a seat to stay upright.
Dax and Ben waved back cheerfully.
"Got a problem, Cyrano?" Dax called. "We just finished out back."
Was it possible they had not seen the figure? Or heard the shots?
Jughead stared at them.
"Oh my god, he thinks the special effects are real." Ben gaped at him for a moment, then broke into hearty guffaws.
"Really?" Dax, to his credit, seemed a lot more disturbed. "Weren't you all the way out by the side entrance when we– oh, man, you weren't, were you?"
Jughead managed to shake his head no.
"Wow. Um. I am really sorry about that; we should have warned you about the app." Dax looked stricken. "It has an audience-facing interactive portion of the show. It's hokey, but the band is convinced that it's going to go viral. They hired these developers to implement all of this innovative tech… it's weird and not really what the band is about, but as the lowly security team we can't talk them out of anything."
Jughead could feel that his jaw had dropped. His mind was racing; he had no ability to respond to this claim.
That had not been a 'special effect.'
Now that Jughead was catching his breath and thinking more clearly, he was increasingly confident that what he had witnessed had been someone in an elaborate costume, firing blanks – which, let the record show, were lethal in close quarters.
Dax and Ben were the picture of innocence, though. They must really believe that whatever had just taken place was an electronic mirage of some kind.
Jughead wasn't sure where to start his explanation, but thankfully he didn't have to.
"Have you lost your minds?" Brand had somehow materialized behind Jughead, and he was loaded for bear. "The police are responding to reports of an active shooter. If that's part of your stage show, then you are the worst security team in history. You want a stampede? In a death trap like this hall?"
Brand turned on Jughead next. His poker face was firmly in place, but the hand he dropped onto Jughead's shoulder was unsteady and he gripped his godson as though he were anchoring him against a tidal wave. "And of course you're here. Because why the hell wouldn't you sneak out and get yourself into the middle of the latest disaster?"
Jughead shrank back from the fury in Brand's tone. If there was such a thing as a poker voice, Brand apparently did not have one.
Dax and Ben looked increasingly confused.
"Uh… Who are you?" Dax asked. His hand twitched uneasily, and Jughead could see from the motion where he would have gripped a firearm if he were carrying one. It was kind of nice to have that much confirmed after the fact. "You're not a cop. Are you?"
Jughead looked from Dax to Brand and then back again. "What? I thought you knew – you said that-,"
"I'm the guy who's about to get you fired," Brand interrupted, "unless you have a much better explanation for what just went down here than I think is humanly possible."
Before Dax could attempt to respond to Brand, another set of doors was thrown wide. In seconds, the hall was being swarmed by police officers.
Jughead let out a deep breath. He had questions for Dax, questions for Brand, and a whole freaking litany of questions for whomever had been in costume firing a gun only minutes earlier.
But for the moment, it was being handled. That meant Jughead could stand down.
Or, more precisely, he could sit down.
Jughead shakily lowered himself to the carpeted floor behind the rows of chairs.
"Hey, are you okay, kid?" Brand demanded, crouching beside him. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Was it actually a special effect? I only heard the shots from outside. Did some idiot get spooked by a low rent hologram and call the cops?"
They could both hear Dax and Ben giving that explanation to cops, who were already looking annoyed instead of tense and adrenaline-driven.
"No. There is no way, Brand." Jughead said emphatically. "It was someone in an elaborate costume, and they were firing blanks."
Brand lowered his eyebrows. "How do you know-,"
"I saw three shots fired. There wasn't any damage to the building," Jughead added swiftly.
"All right; fair enough. That's bizarre. Something very strange is going on here, but I believe you that it actually happened – that it wasn't a special effect." Brand was frowning and his eyes were distant; he was clearly thinking through possibilities as he spoke. "We'll be having a long talk about what on earth you are doing here, but I need some information first. Who else saw the shooter besides those two jokers? Can anyone else corroborate that this was a real person with a real firearm?"
Jughead nodded and pointed. "Three guys are sheltering in place in the room on the right, down that hall. I don't know how much they saw. They definitely saw something, though."
"Good enough for me." Brand stood up. "Stay right there and don't move unless the shooter comes back. If anyone fires anything, you get to me immediately. I'll be on my way to get you, so you won't have far to go. If all goes well, I'll be back for you as soon as I hear from those guys about what they saw – before anyone else gets to them and stories start getting muddied. Or rehearsed."
Jughead watched Brand head down the hallway at a jog.
Huh. It almost sounded like Brand suspected Dax and Ben of trying to cover up what had just happened.
That was weird.
Almost as weird as Dax having no idea who Brand was.
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The breakfast area was bustling, even though it was still fairly early in the morning. Clark looked around, taking stock of who was up and about and what he knew about each of them. It was only a few minutes past six am.
Most of the road crew was here, which meant they probably had work to do soon – otherwise they would have slept in later. Clark had assumed he had drawn the short straw, being the most recent hire, but apparently not.
And hey, there was someone he knew well; FP seemed to be exploring the room, looking for someone. Clark went over to greet him, and found he had to wait his turn.
Everyone was enthusiastically greeting FP and joking with him even as he swiftly made the rounds. If he hadn't known better, Clark would have thought FP had already been on tour for weeks with the crew.
"Penn." Clark finally managed to get the older man's attention. He reached to shake FP's hand and was surprised to be drawn into a hug. "It's good to see you, man."
FP gripped Clark tightly and spoke quietly in his ear. "Jug's missing and shots were fired at the venue. Brandon's there right now, but I need to make sure that there's no possibility…."
Clark moved out of the hug, making sure his expression did not change, but he searched FP's eyes for any clue that he was actually serious and this was not some sort of prank. "It's… within walking distance, right? My orders are to stick close to Davies. If something's going on…"
"You need me to show you around?" FP asked more loudly. "I'm not the best person for that, but sure. I can point you in the right direction."
Ah. Something must be making FP worry about their cover, and he wanted to draft off of Clark's late arrival. Fair enough.
"Thanks. I'd really appreciate it. I got a late start," Clark explained as they walked together out of the breakfast area toward the set of doors at the front of the hotel. "It's always something."
"It sure is," FP muttered under his breath as they neared the doors. "So help me, if it turns out that he's with Betty…"
Clark spotted the problem before FP did, and he motioned toward the elevators instead of the main doors. "After you."
"But-," FP stopped short as he realized why Clark was redirecting them. There were three security members at the doors, already intercepting another member of the road crew.
They could hear enough to figure out the basics: nobody was allowed into the venue, and the powers that be had decreed that all tour personnel were confined to the hotel until more was known about 'the incident.'
Nobody was saying a word about shots being fired.
"Don't you use the app?" A security guy was brandishing his phone. "It's all there, even though I wouldn't recommend you trust it on the details. We'll send out an update once the police are satisfied. Keep an eye out for that, because we'll all be working double time once we're allowed in there."
Clark and FP exchanged dismayed glances.
"Well… The good news is that they're acting like nobody's hurt," Clark assured FP. "I'm sure Davies will handle it. Do you want to go check on Betty and see if Jones is with her?"
FP shook his head, frowning. "Let's go back to the breakfast area. Sooner or later the band will come down, and that way we won't be seen going to their rooms."
"Okay." Clark willingly led the way back to the coffee.
"Huh." FP had been following Clark, but he'd looked back toward the doors and now he sounded very distracted. "Why on earth is Archie outside? Maybe he knows where-,"
Ohhh, that was probably not a good sign.
"You wait here; I'll go find out." Clark shoved his cup of coffee into FP's hands and jogged over to where the security at the front doors of the hotel were reacting more dramatically than was necessary to Archie's unexpected appearance outside of the building.
Maybe the 'shots fired' had been a prank after all.
Maybe Archie had been involved.
Clark hated that it was a possibility, but at the moment that seemed more likely than anything more serious based on the way the security folks were acting.
That meant this had all the potential in the world for becoming a PR nightmare. First things first, though: they needed to not have the current situation devolve to the point of creating a scene.
"Who do I need to talk to so we can get over to the hall and actually do our jobs?" Clark demanded loudly, bringing all of the security's attention on him – and off of Archie, who was all wide eyes and irritated innocence in the face of the security personnel's questions.
Clark lowered his voice to a reasonable volume and smiled as he continued. "Hi. I'm Kent Taylor; I'm with the road crew. I'm late, my boss is mad, and I really don't want to-,"
"Nobody with the tour is allowed to leave the hotel until further notice." The security guy who appeared to be in charge seemed like he was ready to start yelling at the next person who asked questions.
Or like he was about to start yelling at Archie. He was already turning away from Clark and his posture became even more aggressive as he faced Archie once again.
"Kent?" Archie seized on the name like it was a lifeline. He studiously avoided making eye contact with the security guy who was now officially getting in his face. "It's okay, man. I'll let everyone know that you're late because of all of this… mess."
Smart kid. If they played their cards right – and indulged in a bit of theater – maybe Clark would be able to extricate him from the security team without this turning into anything more heated than it already was.
"Hey, wait, you're Archie Andrews, aren't you? I'm a big fan. And thanks; I'd appreciate that. My boss has a thing about being punctual," Clark stepped back, making enough room for Archie to gingerly move out of the security guy's gravity well. Good: they were one step closer to extrication. "You're up awfully early. I thought the opening band didn't need to be over there until late afternoon."
"I went for a run," Archie explained, his eyes flickering over the security team to see how they took that information. "I was going to go for a few more blocks, but these guys flagged me down."
"Oh yeah? I could go with him if that would help," Clark offered the security team, motioning toward the street. No way would they go for it, but hopefully it would sound inane enough for them to want to get rid of both Andrews and Clark instead of prolonging the conversation. "A run sounds great, since we're apparently not allowed to do our jobs."
"Tell you what. You can go with him… to the gym." One of the less aggressive security guys spoke up and pointed in the direction of the hotel's gym. Bingo. "Nobody with the tour is leaving the hotel right now, and Andrews should not be out running at all. Not alone; not with friends."
It looked like the overzealous security team was going to go along with his impromptu plan of escape. Good. They still needed to take a few chill pills, but at least they'd backed off this much.
"Especially not without wearing a hat," another member of the security team added darkly.
Oh. Actually, overzealous or not, that was a fair point.
Clark looked Archie over a second time; he was an extremely recognizable person in general, and had apparently made no effort to tone that down for an early morning run.
"Why? My fans are nice," Archie protested.
"Uh, really? Did you see any?" Clark asked, suddenly feeling a lot more kinship with the angry security team as they all fixed Archie with stares of disbelief. Visions of a PR nightmare returned – with a vengeance.
"Just a few. You know." Archie shrugged.
No. Clark did not know.
He continued staring down Archie, who appeared not to even notice the intense glares coming at him from all sides.
"They took pictures, that kind of thing. They didn't even interrupt my run." Archie seemed pleased.
And you know what? PR aside, Clark should probably be pleased as well; this not only meant that Andrews had not been involved in whatever had happened, but it was an alibi and a half. Nobody could accuse Archie of being involved in anything if timestamped fan photos existed.
It was enough of a relief that, if it weren't for the myriad security concerns to address, Clark might have let the whole thing go.
"Well, maybe those fans were nice. The post-6-am crowd might be less nice," Clark said sternly before the security guys could say anything a whole lot more caustic. Only – dang it – that level of scolding didn't really fit with his cover. It was past time to get out of this conversation. "But whatever; it's your funeral. The gym sounds good to me. Andrews?"
"Yeah, Kent." Archie seemed deflated but resigned. "You got running gear with you?"
"Of course." Kent pointed toward the breakfast area. "And I bet a few of the other roadies wouldn't mind filling their unexpected downtime with something productive. I'll introduce you around."
"Cool." Archie perked back up and smiled as if he was in on a joke. Ah; he must have noticed FP.
Well, good. They could start laying groundwork for an innocent network of connections, potentially involving being regular running partners in the early morning.
Clark could work with this. He just needed to figure out how to get Davies, his primary subject, in on the plan. Clark was not exactly on bodyguard duty, but he figured that his assignment was the next best thing – he wa supposed to stick close to Special Agent Davies and be an extra set of eyes and ears who kept the field office updated on whatever came up.
Nobody with ill intentions from the Southside – or from anywhere else – was going to get anywhere near Davies. Not on Clark's watch.
They joined FP, but by then Archie was distracted by his phone.
"Oh, hey, Jug's texting," Archie said. "Finally. It's about time that lazy bum got out of bed."
Before Clark could say anything, FP had snatched the phone away from Archie and was dialing.
"Jughead?" FP sounded murderous. "Where the hell are you?"
Clark heard Special Agent Davies' voice answer; before he could even process what that meant, FP went deathly pale.
It clicked for Clark a moment later: Agent Davies had gone to find out about the shooter. Now he was answering Jughead's phone.
"FP, what-,"
FP made a fierce slashing motion with one hand that silenced Clark.
Then he turned on his heel and stalked away, muttering into the phone.
Only then he stopped in his tracks, turned around, and handed the phone back to Archie.
"Talk," FP ordered gruffly.
"O-okay," Archie gave FP a nervous look as he accepted the phone. "Hello?"
Clark looked from FP to Archie, waiting for any information.
"Yeah, I talked to them," Archie said into the phone. "Why?"
00000
"They said it was probably just a special effect?" Jughead was incensed. "They were right there. They saw what I saw-,"
"They turned tail and ran instantly. They saw almost nothing," Brand corrected gently. "And for the record, they don't disagree with you. They just aren't sure what they saw – especially not now that there are two possible explanations."
The three men who had sheltered with Kiara apparently had no clue what a real shooter looked like. Or maybe they thought that special effects had come a much longer way in the past couple of years than Jughead thought was possible.
"Are you… bear with me, but… are you sure that you got that good a look?" Dax asked, his face almost painfully sympathetic as he asked the question. "Kiara said you opened the door a crack, and they had to pull you back because they thought you were going to get yourself – and maybe all of them, too – shot. That's not long. Did you really get a chance to see much of anything?"
"Yes," Jughead stated flatly. Then he softened his tone; none of this was Dax's fault, and the man was only trying to help. "It wasn't a lot of time, but it was more than a few seconds. That's forever in a situation like that."
Brand dropped a hand heavily onto the table, underscoring Jughead's statement as he nodded in firm agreement.
Surprisingly, Dax nodded along. "Well, then that's what we'll officially report. Both stories. We believe we saw special effects, but you believe that you saw something else. Something real. That is the situation, and we can't change either one of our stories to force this to make more sense. We have to tell the truth."
Wow. Jughead was taken aback by how easily Dax conceded the point.
The man's insistence that it had to be the special effect had made Jughead nervous that he would view any other version of events as 'competing' or 'contradicting' and try to squelch it. After all, Jughead hadn't seen any sign of special effects, and it was obvious that some of what they were talking about was the same thing – the noise of the shots being fired, for instance.
Dax's reaction raised a valid question, though, and at this point Jughead was beginning to wonder if they could both be right: perhaps Dax and Ben had done a trial run of the special effects while an intruder – a prankster, perhaps? – had entered the building with a gun and fired blanks at the same time.
It was unlikely to have been pure coincidence, but it might have been intentionally timed that way by the intruder… if they'd had insider information.
Brand snorted. His mind was clearly not going down the same path as Jughead's.
In fact, Brand was glowering at Dax and had yet to uncross his arms. It would no doubt take a whole lot more than Dax's offer to allow Jughead's version of events to be reported in order to win Brand over – and get him to stop threatening to do everything in his power to get Dax fired because of the incident.
Whatever the incident turned out to have been.
Admittedly, Jughead understood where his godfather was coming from. There had been answers to some of his most pressing questions, yes, but the answers themselves had ranged from frustrating to downright maddening.
It turned out that Dax had cleared Jughead working with them – but he'd done so with Archie, in a casual conversation that Archie, hastily consulted over the phone, remembered but had not thought constituted anything official.
("I said it was fine by me, but that they needed to talk to you all directly," Archie had reported over the phone. "I meant talking to Brand, but I guess they thought that meant asking Jughead. But Dax really called me 'the big boss man'? That's awesome.")
It wasn't great, but it still sounded innocent to Jughead. Archie was headlining their portion of the tour; Dax simply hadn't known that he also needed to run things past Brand.
It did not, apparently, sound innocent to Brand.
Nor did anything else, for that matter.
"Tell the truth, you say. Huh. What a novel idea." Brand's tone was dripping with venom. "Jon, let's go. This is completely unproductive and we've got a member of our team who needs to be brought up to speed. Now."
Brand was furious.
Dax's eyebrows knit; he seemed increasingly worried about something.
And oh, yeah, Agent Sarah had arrived. Jughead was eager to see her, and maybe she'd be able to shed some light on why Dax and Brand were acting so bizarrely. They were like competing alpha males stalking around each other and snarling, which honestly was a little like FP and Brand had been months ago, but they should be allies – and, unlike FP and Brand, each of them had very clearly demarcated territory of their own.
It wasn't as though Dax was trying to fight Brand for Jughead's loyalty or anything.
"Do you want to go with this guy, Cyrano?" Dax asked quietly. "I'm not liking the tone he's taking with you, and I really think that you should make your statement to the police now. It's always better to get all the information on the record from the word go."
Dax frowned at Brand for a moment, and then leaned in toward Jughead to speak more urgently. "And, look… it's no secret that we've got the budget for another employee on the security team. You jumped right in today even when you thought there was a shooter; I can always use another badass. Just say the word and I will make a call."
Jughead's eyes widened in shock. Okay; maybe the parallels between Dax and Brand and FP and Brand were closer than he'd thought.
"Oh, thanks ever so much, but this 'badass' wants to go with me," Brand snapped. He grabbed Jughead by the arm and started hustling him out of the room. "From now on you stay away from my team, Dax. Full stop."
Dax's eyes never left Jughead's, and now he seemed to be searching for something in the teen's expression. "You don't have to let him push you around. The offer stands. You know how to get in touch with me."
Jughead felt his face flush with embarrassment when Brand adjusted his grip on Jughead so that he had his good arm wrapped around Jughead's ribcage and could lift his godson and move him bodily through the door and down the hallway.
"Seriously? Put me down," Jughead demanded once they were out of earshot of the other security team. "You're going to hurt your shoulder. Or your knee."
Brand wasn't quite limping, but he was favoring the injured leg more visibly than he had the previous day.
"And what is your problem? That was-,"
Words failed him.
"Dax is trying to set you up," Brand muttered so quietly that Jughead almost missed it. "For what, I don't know. But he's got a plan, and you're part of it."
Jughead stiffened. "What?"
That was quite possibly the most paranoid thing that Brand had ever said to him.
"Trust me," Brand continued, still keeping his voice very low. "He looks at you like you are a meal ticket. Or… a meal. And for some reason he wants your story on the record right this minute, even though he swears up one side and down the other that your version of events is impossible. Something's very wrong here. He's got an agenda, and I don't like it. And then he comes after me, and starts trying to get you under his thumb? No. No way in hell."
This was ridiculous. "I think he's just a teensy bit worried because you're giving me orders and dragging me around like I'm an old gym bag," Jughead said dryly.
Brand stopped stock still – and then released Jughead so abruptly that the teen collapsed in a heap on the floor.
"Fine. Walk. But do not think for one minute that joining another security team will mean anything other than taking orders." Brand's eyes blazed, but Jughead caught something else in his expression and his tone.
Brand was hurt. He sounded almost like he might regret some of what he'd said and done.
Jughead's words must have struck a nerve.
"Brand-,"
"It's fine; you're right. Message received." Brand's words were clipped. "I could have been retrieving your bullet-riddled carcass this morning, but by all means let's criticize me having an actual human reaction to-,"
"Brand, I, um... I can't-," Jughead had a new problem: he'd managed to recover enough to get onto his hands and knees, but when he tried to stand from there his vision was going spotty. "I'm dizzy. I need a minute."
Brand's face creased with worry as he crouched beside Jughead. He reached out but stopped short of touching his godson. "Jones, listen to me. You had a scare. From what I've gathered, you ran a pretty good stretch of the building, which is objectively more than you're up to doing at this point in your recovery. But this right here? This is-,"
"It's not good; I get that. I'm also extra tired because I got up really early, and I… well, I haven't eaten anything yet today except some black coffee," Jughead confessed in a rush. "So I think we can wait to panic – or call the doctor – until after I eat something and lie down for a little bit."
"Jones…" Brand groaned his name. He closed his eyes in a wince and sighed heavily. "Fair warning: I am having another actual human reaction."
"I know. I messed up. And not just by skipping a meal." Jughead bit his lip and reached for his godfather's shoulder.
Brand moved his shoulder out of reach.
"Look. I'll try not to order you around like you're an automaton, and I'm not going to haul you around like a gym bag," Brand said slowly, as if the concessions were painful to say aloud, "but you have got to eat."
"I will. I promise." Jughead studied Brand nervously.
His godfather never pushed him away. He never even moved away from his reach like that – not that Jughead could remember. Maybe they were having a serious rift open up between them, right here and now.
And then Brand's expression softened.
"All right. As long as you promise." Brand wrapped his good arm around Jughead once more and squeezed him affectionately – and Jughead's relief was profound. Maybe everything was okay between them after all. "Let's get back to the hotel and regroup."
Brand hoisted Jughead up. "I've got you."
"I know." Jughead took a steadying breath and then leaned heavily into Brand, relishing the contact and the reassurance when his godfather tousled his hair and squeezed him a second time for good measure while helping him to stand. "You always do."
They walked in silence until they exited the building. The hotel was thankfully less than a block away.
Only then did something important occur to Jughead:
"Hey, Brand – does Dad know where I am?"
Brand slapped himself in the forehead. "Crap. I knew I was forgetting something."
Jughead stopped short. He gave Brand a disbelieving look and pulled out his phone. "He's going to-,"
"I'm kidding, Jones. He was with Archie and he knows you're safe," Brand said, making a grab for the phone. "Give me your phone; I'll text him an update. We talked this morning about the need to be better about avoiding obvious contact, and about not being seen together." Brand grimaced. "He came to our room looking for you. Dead giveaway. So I think he's going to steer clear for a few days."
That made sense. But it also made Jughead's chest tighten. He'd gotten used to having his dad nearby.
"Don't give me that look, killer. It's just until we get a handle on-,"
A figure was running down the sidewalk toward them.
Brand squared his shoulders and moved halfway in front of Jughead to shield him from plain view before they both recognized the approaching person.
"Dad?" Jughead barely had time to process what Brand was telling him, and the fact that his dad was openly flouting whatever hasty SOP had been made that morning, before FP was scooping him up in a bear hug.
"FP-," Brand was practically sputtering. "We just talked about-,"
"Do your job, Davies. Lie your butt off and make up as many cover stories as you need," FP growled, turning his head slightly to glare at Brand without loosening his hold on Jughead. "You can start by talking down the security team I just got past."
Brand gaped at FP.
"Do not make that face at me; I didn't hurt anyone and they shouldn't have been trying to keep everyone in the hotel," FP continued. "Anyway, I had time to do some thinking, and I gotta tell you that I am not going to be staying away from my son. Not again."
Brand rubbed his palms over his eyes in consternation. "You do not make my life easy, FP."
"Right back at you," FP replied. He sounded stressed, but thankfully also relieved.
Jughead closed his eyes and inhaled deeply against his father's chest, relishing the feeling that whatever had been teetering dangerously out of balance had now settled into place, safely and securely.
FP released him from the tight embrace but draped an arm protectively around him.
Jughead took a deep breath to center himself and then looked up to see both men gazing down at him with an overwhelming amount of concern.
"Are you okay, Jug?" FP asked. "You seemed like you… got lost for a second there."
"Talk. What is going on with you? Are you blanking out?" Brand demanded. "Having flashbacks?"
Jughead stared at them. "What are you talking about?"
The adults looked at each other in consternation.
"You know exact– wait, no, I guess it's possible you don't–," Brand was talking, but it was clear that he was taken aback by Jughead's response – and his mind was a million miles away. "You might be losing time, kid. Let's, uh… let's have you go lie down. It could just be that you are overtired."
"Ye-eah." FP sounded completely freaked too. He was looking at Jughead, but seemed to be talking to Brand. "That's a good idea. That… well, maybe that's all we're dealing with here."
"Sure. Yeah. At the very least, it couldn't hurt." Brand looked unconvinced, but then he squared his shoulders and gave Jughead an upbeat smile that he obviously did not feel. "Let's go. Resting is a serious thing; no loafing on the job, kid."
"You're scary when you do that," Jughead said, motioning between Brand and his father. The words came out lightly, but even to Jughead's ears he sounded more shaken up than like he was handling things professionally and maintaining an even keel.
"When we do what?" FP asked, confused.
"Agree with each other." Jughead shot them both uneasy looks. "It always means something bad."
That caused the adults to exchange worried looks again.
That was about as reassuring as it sounded.
00000
I feel like the spoon has gone into the pot and given one stiff turn! Things are in motion, but clearly more is coming... and I can't wait to see what! Now that the sun is out (and it had better be permanent! No more gloomy days for a good long while, please!) it feels like the story is warming up too. A study on weather's effect on fanfiction themes would no doubt be redundant; we all know it has a potent effect. :-D
Thanks again for all of your notes! And while I completely mean it when I say no pressure(!) and please enjoy just reading if you prefer that, I hope you also feel free to just say hi (awkwardly or otherwise) since I love the social part of posting chapters too. :) It's always an encouragement! And a million thanks for the longer notes that give me all sorts of ideas and perspectives that enrich each and every chapter.
I hope you have a great rest of the week and are energized by whatever weather you are experiencing! :)
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