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“What’re you doing, buddy?” FP asked Jughead quietly, as he watched him hard at work, arranging a plate of Christmas cookies. “Where’d you get those? You and your mom bake them?”
FP was doubtful that the answer to his question was a ‘yes’, mainly because they looked like they were homemade cookies and not the kind from the slice and bake tube, but he was willing to be surprised. Perhaps in a Christmas miracle, Gladys had deigned to be domestic.
“No,” Jughead told him. “I made them with Betty and her mom,” he supplied. “Mrs. Cooper said that I could bring some home, to share with you and Mom.”
FP managed to ignore the stab to the heart that ‘Mrs. Cooper’ was, even from Jughead’s innocent tone, and he forced himself to remember that he and Alice were both adults, who had families, even if he wasn’t entirely fond of either of their choices in mate. The important thing was that Alice had taken care to make Jughead feel special while he had been -- apparently -- in her care on Christmas Eve. FP was somewhat afraid to ponder how that fate had befallen the boy.
And yet. “Why, uh, why were you at the Coopers, Jug?”
“Mom dropped me off at Archie’s, and they weren’t there,” he said with a shrug. “So I went next door. Betty said we could hang out.”
“I see,” he said, as he scrubbed at his beard. “And her parents didn’t mind?”
“Mr. Cooper was working, like you,” Jughead supplied. “I mean, at his job. I know you don’t work together.”
“Yeah, well, I’m glad that Alice let you,” he said. “Where’s your mom now?”
“I don’t know,” Jughead told him. “I thought she was in your room with you, taking a nap.”
FP had been exhausted when he’d come home from work, and he had barely had the energy to clean himself off and crawl into bed, even though he had wanted to spend time with Jughead, since it was Christmas and all. But Gladys hadn’t been there. At least, not when he’d gone to bed, and not when he’d woken up. So who knew where the woman was? Not him. Thankfully Jughead was somewhat self sufficient.
“You want me to read you a story, boy?”
FP wasn’t the best parent. To describe him as ill-equipped was putting it mildly. He still knew that the boy loved to read. And be read to. And it was Christmas Eve.
Jughead nodded, his eyes lighting up at the prospect. “You’ll read to me, Daddy?”
“Course I will, Jugs,” he said, and he enveloped him in a bear hug, scooping him up. “You’re gettin’ big.”
“Is that why you and Mom have been fighting lately?”
“We haven’t been fighting,” he lied. “It’s okay, son. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Okay,” he said. “Can we read about the Grinch? He’s my favorite.”
FP chuckled, and he dropped a kiss to the top of his head. “Yeah, sure, we can read the Grinch.”
“Is Santa really coming tonight?” Jughead asked him. “Like, for real?”
“Course he is. That’s why you’re leaving out the cookies, isn’t it?” And why he’d been working on Christmas Eve. “He’ll be here.”
“You promise?”
FP nodded. “Yeah, what did you ask for?”
“All kinds of stuff,” Jughead supplied, as he glanced up at FP, his beanie falling off his head. “I hope Santa brings me what I want the most.”
“What’s that?”
“A baby sister,” he said. “That’s what I really want. Do you think it can happen?”
FP managed to avoid sighing. “We’ll see,” he told him. “Don’t count it out.”