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Dread runs cold through her veins as a heavy knock reverberates through her front door. Alice can’t help but blanche at the thought that the Gargoyle King has returned to finish her and Betty off. Whoever - whatever - he is, fled the house in the lightning storm shortly after FP climbed through Betty’s bedroom window, leaving them waiting on pin needles for his return.
FP had pulled her into a tight hug, holding her firmly in the present ( “Shhh.. it’s okay …), slowing her thoughts as they raced into the future.
( What if what if what if... )
“We’ll be discussing precarious ladder placements later, Elizabeth,” she had scolded her willful daughter when she untangled herself from FP’s comforting embrace.
It’s been two hours since the three of them had searched the house from top to bottom with FP leading the charge, holding a gun that once belonged to an imposter. While FP checked the locks and window latches, Alice and Betty cleared out Betty’s room, changed the sheets, tossed the hyper-realistic styrofoam tombstone into the trash.
FP left with the thunder. He had come looking for his son and left intending on finding him.
Now, hours later, looking through the peephole and seeing FP return, dread turns to concern. Alice turns turns the lock and flings open the red door.
“FP, what -”
The question dies on her lips as he wordlessly pushes his way past her, inviting himself into her house. His dark hair, normally tamed with a generous helping of gel, is sticking up in every direction - evidence of a restless hand anxiously running through it.
By the time she locks the door behind him, his arms are wrapped around her, his nose buried in her hair, taking deep, even breaths of her organic shampoo.
Not knowing what to do with her hands, Alice settles on tangling her finger through his hand on her hip, while running the other through his unruly hair.
“What’s going on?” she asks softly.
FP tenses and pulls back. She can see the protest forming on the tip of his tongue, so she reaches up on her tiptoes and kisses it away before it has a chance to manifest.
“Talk to me, FP.”
“You smell like lavender,” he dodges her request with a slight shake of the head.
“It’s good for stress,” she insists. After he had left earlier, she had dabbed essential oils on her wrists in a last ditch effort to get her heart rate down.
“Can you hook me up with some of that? A little anti-stress magic would be amazing right now.”
She doesn’t know what’s gotten him so wound up and she doesn’t know if it’s her place to ask. But she knows the look in his eyes - it’s the same look she sees reflected in her own eyes when she looks into a mirror.
Despair.
The shadow of the Gargoyle King is growing, seeping its way into every aspect of their lives. They had spent so long pretending the Midnight Club had never existed that they didn’t see the darkness enveloping the town and their kids.
“What’s going on?” she tries again.
“Joaquin is dead,” he closes his eyes. His world is spinning and he just needs it to stop for a minute so he can catch up. “Fangs and Sweat Pea just broke the news to me.”
“FP-” Alice doesn’t know what else to say, but FP fills her silence.
“And Jughead is still missing, Alice. He just packed up and left. I have no idea where he’s gone, but I’ll bet you anything it has something to do with Red’s prison escape,” he adds. “Alice, Riverdale isn’t safe. This house isn’t safe.”
“I know,” Alice sighs. She knows very well the risk they face if she and Betty stay. The Gargoyle King was in her house. “I think I might go away for a bit,” she admits. “Just until things calm down.”
“I can’t lose anybody else,” FP tilts her chin up and gently kisses her lips. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too,” she whispers. “This is for the best.”
She means it. She really does. She can’t stay in her compromised house waiting for another visit from the Gargoyle King. It’s the price for the safety they yearn for.
“I know," FP agrees.
But right now, it just hurts .