Archive of Our Own

When a flower grows wild, it can always survive

Wildflowers don't care where they grow

- Dolly Parton, “Wildflowers”

FP is used to the knocking. Half of Sunnyside Trailer Park is relocated to the tent city outside his window and these wayward souls have nowhere else to go.

Sweat Pea and Fangs are normally the culprits. When they're not looking for their newly appointed leader, they're seeking refuge from the summer heat in his air conditioned double-wide. They bribe him with a box of popsicles and he let's them in, tells them not to make a habit even though he knows they’ll be back in three days.

When it's not them, it’s Betty raving to Jughead about an epiphany she's had. She talks a mile a minute about Archie's upcoming trial and how they're going to prove his innocence. Her eyes are wide, her hands gesticulating wildly and FP tells her to cut back on the caffeine.

One time it's Veronica still dressed in her bright yellow Pop’s uniform, hair pulled back, sweaty tendrils sticking to the back of her neck. Her chin is up and she is determined to stay so damn strong. She asks him about prison and he doesn’t sugar coat it. It will be hard, but Archie has hope and people rallying around him and that will get him through.  

Veronica dabs her eyes with her lace handkerchief, sullying it with her mascara, and thanks him for his honesty.

Sometimes Alice shows up. All it takes is a single look and he pulls her in, pins her against the counter and everything falls into place.

Polly Cooper had never knocked on his door until Fourth of July that marked the one year anniversary of Jason’s death. Up until then, FP had only ever exchanged a handful of words with her, 95% of which occurred in Alice's living room. The two of them sat on opposite ends of the couch for what felt like eternity while Alice fetched something from the kitchen.  

Not that he blames Polly. He wouldn’t want to talk to him either. Every time he looks at her he's reminded of when he fell so low, of jobs he never should have taken, of questions he should have asked, of a red-haired boy he tossed into a river.

Standing at on his doorstep with her jaw clenched and calculating gaze, she looks so… Alice .

FP immediately thinks something bad has happened because crime lords, drug dealers, corrupt sheriff's, and dead bodies are part of his everyday life. It makes more sense than Polly coming on her own volition. Why the hell would she do that?

“Polly? What the hell is going on?”

“Hello Mr Jones, I’ve brought you something,” she’s clutching a literal olive branch and pushes her way past him, inviting herself in.

Polly rambles on and on about things he doesn't understand. Edgar says this , Edgar says that … something about souls and bla bla bla ...

“I’m ready to forgive you,” Polly states holding out the branch. “For your role in Jason’s death.”

“Um why?” FP frowns.

It’s not like he’s forgiven himself. Why should she?

“All that anger, all that hatred… it’s been holding me back,” she confesses. “I can’t have that kind of negative energy around my kids. We can’t ignore each other forever. Not with you being such a big part of our lives.”

“What?” 

“Well yeah. My mom and sister think the world of you.”

“They do?”

“You’ve done so much for them. You were there when I wasn’t and that means a lot. Besides, you’re family. Now accept my forgiveness and take the damn branch.”

FP holds the delicate branch in his hands and ponders her words.

Family seems like too strong of a word, but he supposes their bizarre family trees must be connected or will be connected in the future since FP’s son is dating Polly’s sister.

There’s also the matter of Polly’s deceased half-brother being FP’s son. But Polly can’t possibly know about that.

And she can’t possibly know about the torch he’s been carrying for her mother.

“Thank you, Polly,” he finally says. “This means a lot. You didn’t have to.”

“I know. I wanted to,” the girl pulls out a notebook and scratches something off. “Wow, Edgar was right. I do feel better. I’ll see you around, Mr Jones.”

She turns on her heel and flounces back out, leaving a very perplexed FP in her wake.

“Polly came to visit me today,” he admits, lacing Alice’s fingers with his. He kisses her bare shoulder.

Butt-naked on top of his sheets, clothes haphazardly thrown about the trailer, this is one of the rare occasions that they actually made it to his bed.

“Oh good,” Alice smiles, curls herself into his side. “I was wondering about that. I’m glad she didn’t back out.”

“You knew?”

“She mentioned she was considering it. It’s on her Apoca-List.”

“What the hell is that?”

Alice sighs. “It’s a list of everything she wants to have accomplished because The End of Days.”

“So she made a bucket list because she thinks there’s going to be a literal apocalypse?” FP blinks. “Where did she get that idea? Wait, don’t tell me - Edgar .”

Alice swats him gently. “Don’t be so hard on them, FP. It’s not about death or dying. It’s about living your best life. The point of the list is that we have to stop doing all the things that we feel obligated to do and start doing things that we want to do.”

FP worries about this Farm of theirs. It sounds like all kinds of crazy. But whatever Edgar is teaching them seems to be helping, which is a lot more than FP can say about his patented method of drinking his worries away.

“Do you have an Apoca-List?” he asks curiously.

“Maybe.”

“Can I see it?”

He feels her tense in his embrace and for a brief moment he’s worried the delicate moment was destroyed.

“Okay. Fine,” she pulls away and searches for her discarded purse she had dropped. When she’s located it, she pulls out a small notebook and tosses it at him. “Catch.”

In this notebook is every regret Alice wants to fix. Every wrong she wants to right. Every fantasy she has ever had, everything she wants to do in case everything goes to shit.

“Are you going to read it or just doing to stare at the cover?”

FP looks up at her in awe. “Are you sure you want me to see this?”

“I am,” Alice kneels on the bed softly kisses his lips. “It kind of involves you too, you know.”

FP’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh really?”

Alice grins mischievously, runs a delicate finger up his chest. “Maybe you can help me cross some off?”

That’s all the encouragement FP needs. He gently thumbs through the pages, squinting at her sharp cursive handwriting. He feels her push his glasses onto his nose.

“Better?” she smiles.

He simply rolls his eyes and continues to scan the page. Some are already crossed off, some still pending completion.

There are pages and pages similar to it.

FP glances up to find her nervously watching him. “Do you have a pen in that purse of yours?”

Alice raises and eyebrow. “Yeah, why?”

“Well you can cross off Number 2. Things are most definitely right between us,” he flicks through the pages. “And how about we try out Number 125?  Sex in a car? Then maybe we can work on getting to Number 96: Edging and Number 206: Tantric Sex?”

“Are you serious?”

FP kisses her softly. “Alice, I swear to you that I’ll help you accomplish as much of this list as possible. Even the non-sexy goals."

She smiles brilliantly. “Then we better get started.”