Chapter Text
You know those Christmas movies you see on those cheesy channels, marketed towards people alone on their couch eating pints of Jen & Berry’s under the glow of their apartment-sized Christmas tree? I know, I know… they are completely mind-numbing and unrealistic and a form of fluff entertainment that distracts us from the dropping temperatures outdoors and the piling credit card bills stuck in the corner of the kitchen counter. I felt the same way. You see, I’m more of a “Bah Humbug,” than an “Every time a bell rings an angel gets its wings,” kind of guy, but this past Christmas I found myself a player in a real-life holiday romance film. Like the ghost of Christmas past, let me take you back.
November 4th
New York
“Harold’s?” Betty’s sweet voice sang into the receiver, traveling through the airways and into the eardrums of her best friend on the other end of the line. Her voice was music to his ears, a symphony orchestrated just for him, and him alone, but also not for him at all.
“Betts?” he asked curiously, clicking off the documentary he had been watching and closing the laptop screen in front of him, still blank and wordless after two hours of writer’s block. “Is everything all right? Harold’s is usually reserved for when one of us has to interact with our parents… or attend one of Archie’s shows.”
“It’s that bad, Jug,” she whispered out, shakily. “I need a pint of a hipster local brew and you. I need you.”
“Twenty, okay?” He sighed, recognizing the quiver in her voice, and hung up immediately. Sniffing himself, he winced a bit and ran to the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and giving himself a quick rubdown before deciding it was the shirt that was offensive, not his body.
“Smells like garlic,” he said, cautiously sniffing again. “And egg salad. When did I last wash this?”
After brushing his teeth, Jughead ducked into his room and grabbed a garment from his closet that wouldn’t make his best friend even more upset than she already was. Best friend. Betty Cooper had been his best friend since their days in the sandbox. He remembered her determination to build a perfect castle as he gathered just the right rocks and stones to adorn her masterpiece. He remembered getting teased in middle school on Valentine’s Day when Reggie Mantle saw him hand Betty a homemade Valentine card, Betty glaring and ripping up the one from Reggie on the spot, kissing Jughead’s cheek and grabbing his hand to lead him to homeroom. He remembered hours in the Blue & Gold office, watching her passionately rant about local injustices and exposing the truth, her alabaster cheeks pink from exasperation.
Each of those moments, a snapshot in his mind, was a moment he wanted to lay his palm across her cheek and behind her head, allowing his fingers to be painted by her golden waves, and graze his rough, chapped lips over her shell-pink smooth ones. But that would never, could never happen. She was so far out of his league it wasn’t even remotely humorous. They were best friends and if that’s all he ever got, he’d consider himself a lucky man.
Grabbing his hat and jacket, he locked up his apartment before knocking on the carbon copy of his own, two doors down. A bundled up and red-eyed Betty opened her door and greeted him with a pout.
“Should I come in and talk about it now or do you need some greasy food and an IPA in your system first?”
“IPA,” Betty answered gruffly. “Food optional.”
“Oh boy,” Jughead quipped, hoping it wasn’t going to be one of those nights.
At the pub, despite her protest, he ordered them food; burgers and a basket of fries to split. He even added on an order of mozzarella sticks, knowing that cheese was comfort food for his friend. Halfway through her beer, her shoulders sagged and her eyes lifted to meet his own.
Ripping up the straw wrapper with her finger, she blurted out, “So, I got fired today.”
He wasn’t expecting that. Drama with Alice? Maybe. A spat with Veronica over not flying to an island for vacation? Also likely. Loss of job was something he had plenty of experience with, but not in regards to Betty.
“I know,” she flushed, looking away when he didn’t immediately respond. “It’s so embarrassing.”
Jughead’s arm shot out, his hand ending across the wood of the table as his warm palm settled over her knuckles, squeezing gently. “Hey, no. No, Betty. It’s not embarrassing at all. It’s a reality of life.”
Her face was obscured behind a curtain of hair, no longer tied up in her tight, Alice Cooper-approved ponytail like it was in high school. Behind her curls, Jughead heard her sniffle and saw her hand come up to swipe at her eyes, a mixture of moisture and mascara left behind. In a spur of the moment decision, he was out of his seat and on her side of their booth, pulling her into his chest and hugging her tightly. He could feel the moisture from her eyes against his t-shirt and his heart crumbled a bit. Betty was the absolute hardest worker in that newsroom, working late hours, weekends, and holidays. He knew there had to be more to the story.
Cooing words of comfort into her hair, he waited for her tears to subside before palming her jaw and tipping her face up to look at him. “What happened?” he asked softly, watching her bottom lip quiver.
“You know that local politician they had me following a beat on?” she asked softly as she grabbed her unused napkin and dabbed at her eyes, wrinkling up her face in a frown when the mascara coated the white fabric. “I found out his wife was cheating on him two weeks ago and I sat on it. I- I thought maybe I was wrong or maybe she would confess and they could work through it, you know? He always seemed so happy.”
That was Betty, Jughead thought to himself. An eternal optimist.
“Anyway, my editor was looking for the piece I copy-edited for Bill on the protests downtown and she found the photos in my desk. I was so stupid to keep them there. After berating me for withholding a huge break in front of everyone, she fired me on the spot and released the story online this afternoon.”
“Betty,” Jughead sighed. “I’m sorry. What you did was noble and honest. When did journalism become about cheating and ruining private lives and less about global issues anyway?”
Betty cheeked a small smile at that, a discussion they had many times before, before sucking in a heavy breath and grabbing his hands in her own. “I’m afraid to tell Alice,” Betty confessed, honestly. “She’s- well you know how she is. And how am I going to pay my rent? Fran said she would tell every paper in New York I was a bleeding heart who couldn’t be trusted. I’ll never get hired anywhere now. My career is over and it had barely begun.”
Jughead sat back against the booth and sighed, sinking down into the squeaky, sticky leather. “That makes two of us,” he lamented. “I am barely getting freelance work and my next novel is about two-hundred-thirty blank pages right now. I’m living off what’s left of the last one, but I’m afraid it’s not much.”
As they both sat back, watching the mounted TV screen in front of them ironically blast the cheating scandal story in question, Betty skimmed her hand along the vinyl and laced her fingers with those of her best friend.
“What are we gonna do, Jug?” she asked, defeated, earning a shrug from him in return.
“I don’t know, Betts,” he replied, honestly. “But whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together. Wanna head home?”
“Netflix and popcorn?” she asked, hopefully.
“I’ll even sweat it out under that two-hundred-pound chunky knit blanket you love so much.”
“Piggyback?” Betty pressed, biting her lip and giggling, knowing he’d deny her nothing tonight.
“Fine,” Jughead said, dragging out the word and pretending to be displeased. “But I’m not running this time. Last time we utilized the old ‘Vamoose Caboose’, I almost lost my footing and sent us both into that hot dog vendor.”
December 1st
Riverdale
They stood on the curb in front of the dilapidated building, staring up at the old brick and broken glass windows on the storefront before them, boxes in arm and bags hoisted on their shoulders.
“So this is it,” Jughead said apologetically, gesturing towards the property that straddled the north and south property line of Riverdale. The building was a small, one-bedroom apartment settled on top of an empty storefront below, unused for many years based on the state of its upkeep.
“Remind me again how we got to a point, at twenty-four, where this is our best option for a living space,” Betty mumbled, staring in horror at the building before her.
“We can always move back in with Alice and FP?” Jughead teased, laughing at the grimace that Betty shot him at the mere suggestion. “This is only temporary and won’t eat up our savings. C’mon, let’s go see how bad it really is. Sweet Pea gave me a great deal on this place. Apparently, no one wanted to rent or purchase the property and it’s been weighing his cousin down for a few years now.”
“This place?” Betty grinned, feigning shock. “I can’t imagine why.”
Chuckling back, Jughead pulled out the keys Sweet Pea had given him just an hour ago. Letting themselves into their new apartment, Betty quietly stepped forward, inspecting the place with an investigative eye. The kitchen was galley style, but not terribly narrow and the living room had space for her old couch they had loaded onto the moving truck, a selfish purchase from when she had a steady paycheck. She ran her finger along the counter and then rubbed them together, grimacing at the layer of dust that coated the surfaces. Apparently, Sweet Pea hadn’t sprung for a cleaning crew.
Jughead stood back at the door nervously. He knew this was a gamble, renting a one-bedroom apartment for them to share back in Riverdale, but they had run out of options, and money. He knew he’d give Betty the bedroom so the living room he glanced around now and Betty’s couch would be his sleeping quarters. Maybe she’d share half the closet with him.
“So, when I get to the bedroom will there be a stripper pole or a family of rats waiting to greet me?” she teased, winding up back at his side.
“I’m rooting for the stripper pole,” Jughead grinned. “That could come in handy… for like workouts, you know?”
“Mmm,” Betty hummed, raising an eyebrow at him before pushing forward into the bedroom. The room itself was a decent size, with two double bed frames and two dressers already assembled and inside.
“Did you buy these?” Betty asked, eyeing the wooden pieces.
Jughead shook his head and finally placed down the heavy bag he held, his shoulder and arm numb, figuring he’d deal with dusting it off later. “They must have just been there from when his cousin lived here. I think he was the guardian of his kid brother.”
“Well,” Betty said, dropping her bag to the floor as well. “I guess they could come in handy. I was wondering how we were going to fit both our bed frames into one room.”
Jughead cocked his head to the side and chortled a bit at the thought. “Yeah, no. I didn’t even bring mine. It was like seventh-hand, not even second, and I figured I’d sleep on the living room couch.”
Shuffling across the dusty floor, Betty smacked him directly on the chest and creased her brow in anger. “Jughead Jones, you did not rent a… a… this place, so I would have somewhere to sleep and you’d be couch crashing! Absolutely not!”
“Well then what do you suggest, Betty? This was… is all we can manage right now.”
“I suggest that we put down blankets on these tonight and tomorrow we get new twin mattresses and bedding. We should each have a bed.”
Jughead rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly, studying the shapes his footprints made in the dust.
“What?” Betty asked, sensing his awkward demeanor.
“Nothing,” Jughead muffled out, shaking his head.
Catching his eye, Betty squared her jaw and pressed him. “Jug.”
“Won’t it be awkward when you… if you… what if you have a special guest?” he blurted out using air quotes as he spoke the word special.
Betty peered at him carefully, her look more like a glare than anything else. “Are you… are you asking if I’d feel awkward sleeping with someone in our shared bedroom? What do you think I am? A madame? Sure, we could use the money, but…”
Jughead’s eyes went wide and he thrust his hands out, grabbing her shoulders. “No! No, no, no. I didn’t mean it like that. Just what if you do meet someone?”
Betty’s scoffed and blushed a bit at the implication. “I haven’t had a date in almost two years, Jug, and I was living in Manhattan. We’re in Riverdale . I don’t think it’s going to be a problem.”
Betty glanced over at the bed situation again and frowned. She definitely wanted new mattresses first thing in the morning. With one final sigh, she headed to the door.
“Hey, Betty?” Jughead called stopping her in her tracks. “New York City guys are dumb. You’re beautiful.”
Betty paused a moment, searching his face for a smirk, but only found a seriousness that he reserved for profound truths, usually confessed in early morning hours after a night’s worth of talking. She bowed her eyes, bashfully, holding onto the door jam and toeing at a loose nail in a floorboard.
“Juggie,” she breathed, hoping his name would suffice for now. “Come on. Let’s get the boxes. I need the cleaning supplies and first aid kit.”
“Do you normally use those things in tandem?” he asked, grateful for the distraction from their awkward moment seconds earlier.
“Not generally,” she remarked sadly. “But I’m afraid while cleaning one of us may trip on a nail, old bottle cap, or perhaps discarded pocketknife and I’d rather not get Tetanus.”
…..
Jughead spent the next hour carrying box after box up the two flights of stairs to their apartment. On one particular pass through the living room, he dropped the box of towels, grabbing his chest in fright as he came face-to-face with Betty, suited up in elbow length, yellow rubber gloves, and a full-face vapor cover that exterminators and painters wore to block out fumes and mold. A toolbelt was secured around her waist, equipped with disinfecting wipes, glass cleaner, paper towels, and a feather duster.
“Why are you dressed like a giant fly that ate a handy-man?” he asked, grateful the box he had lost control over was only unbreakables.
Lifting the shield over her face and taking out her earphones, Betty took a large gulp of air and shook her hair free from the bandana. “I was vacuuming before I started a scrub down of this place and to be honest, I wasn’t sure what was in the air. I figured this was the safest way to attack the situation.”
Jughead just stared at her. Every time he thought Betty Cooper couldn’t surprise him she found a new way to do so.
“Why do you even have one of those?” he asked, shaking his head and picking up the box he had dropped.
“Why don’t you?” she teased. “When the apocalypse hits, I’ll be prepared, Jug. Plus, I use a lot of spray adhesive when I craft and that shit will kill you.”
Jughead just chuckled and delivered the box to the bathroom. While his idea of packing was to toss things in a box before they left, Betty had stopped him and presented him with a two-week, pre-moving plan. They had packed room by room, mixing her towels and his, their pots-and-pans, and even their book collections. Only their clothes and personal items remained separate. It was efficient, but Jughead had found it quite intimate to see his ratty, navy towels mixed with the plush, eucalyptus colored ones from her own bathroom.
Back in the living room, Betty remained maskless, spraying and wiping down the windows, the sun now breaking through as the grime was washed away. That moment, sun shining in over her face, lighting up the gold flecks in her hair, he really hoped it was a metaphor for their futures; the darkness wiped away and only sunshine up ahead. If anyone deserved that, it was Betty. They had more than their fair share of darkness.
He had one box left to grab from the truck, but he found himself glued to the entryway between rooms, watching her sing as she scrubbed, mask gone, but headphones wedged back into her ears.
“ The tree's wrapped up in lights
And you're close by my side
You're all I need, it's true
The greatest gift is you
The fire's warm and bright
So we'll stay in tonight
You're all I need, it's true
The greatest gift is you
You bring joy to my soul
With your fingers in the holes of my sweater
You bring warmth to the cold
Always find a way to make me feel better”
Her words pulled on his heartstrings and tickled their way down his spine as he fiddled with the hole in the hem of his own t-shirt. He felt his feet urging him forward, like two south pole magnets being drawn towards her true north. With a bite of his lip and the cracking of his knuckles, he pushed the moment away, quietly backing himself towards the door and down to the truck to secure the last box. He berated himself the whole way.
Jughead knew that being roommates with Betty would be difficult. Not difficult in the sense that she’d want him to clean up the clothes he usually left next to the hamper rather than in the hamper when he showered, or that she’d rather him dry and put away dishes than stack them on the dry rack like blocks in a risky game of Jenga, but difficult in the sense that he was drawn to her enough his whole life without sharing the same abode. He had recited a mantra the entire drive from the city to Riverdale. “This is for Betty, not because it makes you happy, but because she deserves it.”
He laughed at that and chastised himself. Who was he kidding? She deserved a lot more than this rundown shoebox he’d rented and a roommate who fell asleep wondering how soft her skin was. He was that guy and Betty needed him to be a good guy.
Glancing up at the window, he could see her scrubbing at a spot that just wouldn’t come clean, frowning as she did so, biting her lip in complete concentration. He wanted to bite that lip himself.
“Nope,” he said aloud, closing the truck as he grabbed the last box. “This is a slippery slope, Forsythe. You need a distraction. A buffer… and to stop talking to yourself.”
Putting the box down before himself, he pulled his cell from his pocket and pulled up his second most used contact after Betty.
“Hey, Arch,” he said gratefully when he answered. “Betty and I just got into town and I could use some help with the heavier pieces. There’s pizza and beer in it for you. No! Do not bring Ronnie. Not until we have this place set up. She will literally kill me for bringing Betty here.”
…..
Back upstairs, Jughead flopped down on a crate, sweaty and exhausted. He didn’t mind manual labor; it was honest and it afforded him time to think. But the thought that all of their furniture still remained two floors below was daunting to consider. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, willing his body to cool itself down. A chill spread down the side of his cheek and he looked up to find Betty pressing a cool glass of water to the side of his face and he groaned at her in thanks.
“It’s not ice cold,” she apologized. “But it’s cool enough. I can’t believe it’s still this warm in December.”
“That’s global warming for you,” Jughead joked, rolling his neck to soothe the sore muscles there.
“Let me,” Betty murmured softly, pushing his hands away before he could protest and pressing her thumbs into the base of his neck on either side of his spine.
“Betts, no. I’m all sweaty. I-” he protested, leaning forward a bit to avoid her touch.
“S’okay,” Betty reassured him, pulling him back and resuming the light pressure before digging in a bit deeper. “If you’re going to suffer through living with me there should be perks, don’t you think, Juggie?”
He mumbled out a response, incoherent in its formation, as Betty’s hands smoothed over his shoulders and dug into the muscles there. “Besides, you carried all of my stuff up here. I think that type of chivalry deserves to be rewarded.”
A dozen images of how he’d like to be rewarded popped into his head and he pushed himself off the crate as fast as possible. “Archie!” he sputtered out, nervously. “I called Archie! He’s coming to help carry furniture.”
Betty smiled, tight-lipped, nodding at him as if he were insane. “That’s good, Jug. Furniture is heavy.” She paused a moment, examining her hands which were now twisting around each other before she spoke. “Do you think Arch told anyone about us moving here?”
She wouldn’t meet his eyes. She stared at her hands, the floor, the spot on the wall where the plaster was cracked. His heart sank a bit and he willed himself not to scrunch up his chin. He always did that when he was sad, or at least that’s what she told him. She would know her words had gotten to him.
“Relax, Betts,” he assured her. “I guarantee Archie hasn’t gone galavanting all over Riverdale that you’re shacking up with a Jones. Your secret is safe.”
She seemed to realize instantaneously that he didn’t understand her motives for questioning him at all. In one giant step, eyes wide yet soft, Betty stood before him, brushing her palm against his cheek, leaving little space between them.
“Jug, no,” Betty rushed out quickly, begging him to understand. “This has nothing to do with you. I swear it. I’d wear a t-shirt around town that said, “I heart my roomie,” with your face plastered on the front. It’s not everyone I’m worried about knowing I’m in town again. It’s… it’s one person.”
Jughead leaned into her touch. He was blissfully aware that their bodies had less than a foot of space between them and that she was so close he could smell the vanilla body spray she used, probably after sweating in this hotbox apartment. It took him a moment to remember she was speaking and he considered her words carefully before his face softened and his head tilted, pulling her palm from his cheek to hold her hand between his own.
“Betty,” he whispered, sympathetic. “You haven’t told Alice what happened yet, have you?”
With a scrunch of her face and a shrug of her shoulders, Betty pulled back a bit in an attempt to escape his gaze and this conversation. He grabbed hold of her shoulders to draw her back in.
“Betts, Riverdale is a small town and unless you want us to buy groceries at Vic’s Discount down the block where the expiration dates are scratched off the sides and the packages say Chario’s and Campbull’s, we are going to run into her at some point.
“I know,” she clapped back quickly, huffing out a breath that blew a stray strand of hair up over her face. “I know! I know! I- I’ve tried, Jug. I really have. It’s just every time I work up the nerve to explain it to her I just hear the series of insults and barraging remarks, that I know will inevitably spill out of her like lava, reverberating around in my head!”
For a while, he just let her rant. He knew every word she said was true and that while she was a grown woman in every other way, she was emotionally still a frightened girl, afraid of making a mistake when it came to her mother. Alice, whether near or far, still had that effect on her. In every other aspect of her life, Betty was alit with confidence, a force to be reckoned with. Alice always had the power to draw her back into a self-conscious state.
Jughead pulled Betty into a tight hug against his chest and rested her head under his chin, a place she had grown quite accustomed to through the years. His voice, low and soft, wrapped around her as he spoke.
“I won’t lie to you. When you tell her, it will be awful. Her first instinct will be to put you down, but you can’t let her. You’re a grown woman now, Betty. You can’t let her deteriorate you or have that same control over your emotions.”
“What if I can’t help it?” she asked quietly, looking up at him through her wet lashes. “What if I’m not strong enough this time? I mean, she’s my mom . ”
Jughead remained calm and quiet, but inside he was an inferno. He cursed Alice Cooper for being able to affect her daughter in such a way. She didn’t deserve someone so good when she had a soul as black as coal.
“You can,” he assured her, using his thumb to wipe away a stray tear. “You have the softest, yet strongest heart I know, Cooper. It deserves to be free of the guilt you’re always carrying around. You are more than enough.”
“Jug,” Betty choked out. “How can you be so sure?”
Jughead’s eyes searched her own, his hand grazing her cheek and his other hand returned the rogue blonde hair that had flopped over her face back to its rightful resting spot.
“I know you,” he said simply, as if that explained it all.
It was at that moment they both seemed to realize exactly how close they were and the cherished way in which he held her face. Her hands, idle at his waist, slid up his chest in a slow crawl. Jughead sucked in a breath at the contact and foraged her features for a clue of her motives. He thought that she had to be able to feel his heart pounding through his t-shirt from the rapid thud it was creating inside his body.
He opened his lips to speak as the old, rusted hinges of their slightly ajar front door squeaked open.
“Hey, guys!” Archie beamed, excited to have his two oldest friends back in town. “I’m-”
Archie paused, looking between the two, who seemed to also realize at that moment exactly how their body language probably appeared to their friend.
“...interrupting something?” Archie finished, looking relieved and hopeful. “Jug! You finally-”
“The truck, Arch,” Jughead interrupted. “Let’s head down and grab that furniture before it gets dark. I promised you a meat lover’s supreme pie all to yourself when it’s empty.”
With a goofy, awkward grin, Jughead removed his hands from Betty’s face and all but ran out the front door, Archie shaking his head and trailing behind him. Betty stood immobile, watching his retreating form and questioning if perhaps all this time her affections hadn’t been as one-sided as she had thought.
Shaking her head, she pushed the thought away. “Get back to cleaning, Betty,” she muttered to herself. “You won’t blink your eyes and find this mess was all a dream.”
…..
Down at the truck, Jughead avoided Archie’s face at all costs for as long as he could.
“So, I think we should start with the couch and coffee table so we will at least have somewhere to eat pizza when it comes. Then we can come back for the lamps, bar stools, and bedroom pieces.”
Bending at the waist, Jughead slid the couch from the back of the truck towards the front, Archie gripping it by the sides to help him lift it down. When the couch was completely lowered, Jughead hopped down from the truck and was immediately accosted with a hand to his chest, pushing him down onto the sofa.
“Arch, what the hell, man?” he yelled, looking up at his Archie who stood over him, hands propped across his chest.
“Oh no, Jug,” he said directly. “You aren’t moving until you tell me what the hell that was upstairs just now. You and Betty looked like you were two seconds away from smooshing faces and swallowing tonsils.”
Swallowing quickly at the mere image in his head, Jughead flushed and glanced up at the window where Betty stood before, no doubt cleaning and singing somewhere else in the house presently.
“It was nothing,” Jughead answered, defensively. “Betty was upset that Alice might find out she’s back in town. I was just reassuring her she could handle her wrath. We’re still just friends.”
Archie pursed his lips and nodded sarcastically. “Friend, huh? I often reassure Reggie with gentle face caresses and goo-goo eyes. Completely normal.”
Rolling his eyes, Jughead pushed himself up and past his moving partner, grabbing one end of the couch and looking at the other side expectantly.
“Just promise that you and Ron will stay quiet about Betty being here?” Jughead huffed, heaving the couch up from his side. “Betty will die if Alice knows she’s here.”
“Oh, she knows,” a cold voice called from behind the truck, causing Jughead to stumble forward, the couch weight falling towards Archie and knocking him flat to the ground.
“Al- Mrs. Cooper,” Jughead said nervously. “It’s ni- merry… um, hello.”
“Forsythe,” Alice said cooly, her frozen exterior as icy as always. “Still quite the pillar of intelligence I see. Now, be a good boy and go get my daughter. I’m not going into that hypodermic needle of a building and risking a roof collapse or hepatitis.”
With a silent, awkward nod, Jughead ducked into the building and ascended the stairs, mumbling the whole while. “...pillar of intelligence. Hepatitis…”
Betty was leaning against the kitchen counter when he made it to their door, taking a long swig from a bottle of water. Thank goodness she had the forethought to purchase some because he doubted their own tap was uncontaminated.
“Hey, Betts?” he said, voice a bit more high-pitched than he’d have liked. “You remember that thing you were afraid of and I told you not to worry about?”
Capping the bottle, Betty pushed up off the counter and stared at him bug-eyed. “Juggie, does my mom know I’m in town?”
Jughead rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly and tossed an apologetic look her way. “She may be out front… right now.”
Betty ducked to the floor like a grenade had just been thrown through the window, placing her back against the kitchen island and closing her eyes.
“She can’t see you, Betts,” Jughead laughed. “But you and I both know that if you don’t go down there, she will be up here and dragging you out by your ponytail in two minutes.”
“It’s just too much,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I think this is the lowest point I’ve ever hit and my mother uses failure to fuel her soul.”
Jughead stuck out an arm and tossed her a knowing look, half-smiling when she groaned and grabbed his hand, letting him pull her to her feet.
“Be my buffer?” Betty asked hopefully, frowning at her best friend turned roommate.
“When am I not?” Jughead chuckled before pushing her out the front door.
When they made their way out front, Alice was talking to Archie, quite warmly. She hadn’t been a fan of his in their youth when she was convinced he and Betty were dating, despite Betty’s many explanations that Archie was dating Veronica. She was convinced he’d get her pregnant and ruin her life. Now that he and Veronica were engaged and he was running his own business, Alice seemed to have taken more of a positive outlook on his character.
Hearing the shuffle of her sneakers, Alice turned and wrinkled up her lip, taking in Betty’s disheveled appearance.
“Elizabeth,” she snapped. “I understand you are at this half-way house but surely you don’t need to look the part of a troubled youth as well.”
“Nice to see you, too, Mom,” Betty grinned. “Always great to get an honest opinion on my appearance.”
Alice barked out a harsh laugh. “You want to talk about honesty? My own daughter didn’t tell me she was back in town. I had to hear it from Pop, who heard from Josie, who heard from Cheryl, who heard from Veronica. I’m the last to know.”
Betty, with her built-in guilt complex, flushed and looked upset for a moment. She knew not telling Alice the truth would be worse so she took a deep breath and grounded herself, preparing for the worst.
“Well, Mom-”
“And I understand you always have had a bleeding heart and a soft spot for the Jones boy, but why are you here, doing God knows what with him, in that run-down building? Is this a charity venture?”
Betty’s head snapped up and she looked from her mother to Jughead, and back. Alice knew she was in town, but not that she had moved back. A small miracle. She would be a bit less pressed if Betty told her that bit herself.
“Well, actually Mom-”
“It’s my fault, Mrs. Cooper,” Jughead interrupted. I lost my job and Betty was worried about me. She came to town to help me move and took some time off while I adjust to my situation. I’m going through a bout of depression.”
“Well,” Alice said, looking a bit more warmly on him at the moment. “I can understand that. My Elizabeth has always been sensitive to people's needs, especially yours.”
Betty looked up at Jughead with such great gratitude in her eyes. She knew that this wasn’t easy for him, since her mother already looked at him like a miscreant, but was grateful he did it for her anyway.
“Well, Elizabeth,” Alice said expectantly. “I suppose you should be coming with me then. while I understand you’re here to help, there’s no need for you to sleep in a dump like this.”
Alice turned to leave and Betty’s voice drew her back around. “Actually mom, I’m going to stay.”
Alice didn’t look surprised at all. “I suppose it’s for the best,” she sneered. “Someone should be watching to make sure Forsythe doesn’t fall into an alcoholic state like his father. “
With a final, tight-lipped smile, Alice said, “The eighth is the feast of the immaculate conception. I’ll expect you at church and then dinner at our house. Archie, you and Veronica should come as well. And Jughead, I’m sure you could use a hot meal.”
There was no room for an argument as Alice left without another moment’s pause, climbing into her car and driving away without looking back. The moment her car was out of sight, Betty turned and smacked Jughead on his bicep.
“What is wrong with you?” Betty asked. “Are you a glutton for punishment? A masochist? Do you have a death wish? What was that about?”
“I don’t know!” Jughead stammered out, confused himself. “She just looked so smug and predatory and my machismo instincts caved in and yelled, ‘Save Betty!’ and I said the first thing that came to my mind!”
Betty’s shoulders sagged and she smiled affectionately, leaving in to place a quick kiss on his cheek.
“Thank you,” she said sweetly. “I’m sorry my first instinct was to slap you, but my mother makes me crazy.”
“Apparently,” he mumbled, rubbing at his arm as Archie looked between them and laughed.
“What?” Betty asked, watching Archie with amusement. “You know you and V don’t actually have to come to dinner, right?”
“Oh. Oh, no,” Archie grinned. “Alice is going to eat Jug alive for dragging you here. I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”
…..
They were sore, exhausted, and full-bellied after eating too many slices from the meat-lovers pie once all their furniture was carried up from the truck. While the boys had moved the heavy pieces, Betty began to unpack and set up, making sure to grab sheets from the linens box for their beds. Both of their sheets were for full beds so they hung off the twins like parachutes, flipping down the sides. Their comforters were giant as well.
“We can go grab some new sheets tomorrow,” Betty sighed. She was warm, their heat unable to be regulated by the unit itself. They basically had two choices; on or off. She was considering off. Her flannel penguin PJs were making her sweat, but she didn’t have time to unpack all her clothes and these were available. Jughead looked a bit cooler, wearing flannel pants and a white tank top. Betty couldn’t help but admire his arms just a bit as they stared at the messy beds.
“So, left or right?” he asked teasingly, trying to make light of the situation.
“By the wall,” Betty grinned. “I like feeling all boxed in and safe.”
“Ah, so you’re usually the little spoon then?” he teased. “Good to know. Well, goodnight, roomie.”
“Night, Jug,” Betty whispered back, feeling a bit awkward as they climbed into their respective beds and turned off the lamp she had placed on the corner dresser.
As they settled in, Jughead began to toss and turn, the small bed uncomfortable on his tall frame. Each roll squeaked the old rusted bed frame hinges and springs, creating loud screeches in the room.
“Jughead,” Betty groaned after ten minutes of the bed crying. “Could you please stop rolling? I’m afraid you’re going to summon every coyote in New York State with that sound.”
“I’m sorry! But this isn’t the easiest thing to sleep on. It’s small and the mattress is made out of cement. And this is coming from a guy who slept in a closet at Riverdale a high, so…”
Betty sighed and Jughead forced himself to lay still, the springs digging into his spine in his current position. Breathing slowly, he closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep. After ten minutes, Betty could hear light snores coming from the bed next to hers. Settling further into her pillow, Betty closed her eyes and began to drift off.
BAM! A crash and a breaking of glass woke her from a sound sleep. Betty jolted from her bed and reached for the lamp, only to find it missing. Darting across the room she flung in the overhead light and found Jughead groaning on the floor, pushing himself to a seated position.
“Juggie!” Betty yelled, rushing to his side. “Are you alright? Are you cut? What the hell happened?”
He pushed himself back up onto the bed while Betty compulsively examined his arms and back for glass but luckily he seemed to be fine.
“What happened is I’m too tall for this bed and used to more space. Sorry I killed your lamp.”
Betty watched as Jughead rolled his neck and groaned. He was exhausted from the day’s strenuous efforts and Betty could see the exhaustion in his eyes.
“Get up,” she said abruptly, tugging on his arm. “Up, Jug.”
Confused, but too tired to argue, Jughead ambled off the bed and over to the side of the room as he watched Betty shove the two twin beds together, throwing his comforter over them both like a sheet and leaving hers to toss over the top. She climbed in and under the covers before holding it open for him.
“Get in.”
“What? I.. you… what?” Jughead stammered, flapping his arm back and forth between himself and the bed.
“You need sleep. I need sleep. Tomorrow, we will put my bed together because my mattress isn’t made of a thousand rusty nails, and then at some point after that, we can figure out a long term situation. Sound good?”
Jughead just nodded, hit the light, tentatively crossed the room and climbed between the blankets. For a moment they both laid still, staring up at the ceiling quietly. Betty moved first rolling to her left and Jughead to his right.
“Night, Betts.”
“Night, Juggie.”
December 8th
A week had passed since their move-in date and the apartment was already beginning to look like a home. Their books had mingled on the living room bookshelf and Jughead’s old, flannel blanket had taken up residence on Betty’s gray couch next to her coral and yellow throw pillows. The decor was slightly incompatible, but neither seemed to mind as they settled into an easy routine. Betty knew that living with Jughead would make her happy, but she didn’t realize how easy and calming it would feel.
After their first night together, she had woken up sprawled across him, one hand on his chest and his arm draped over her back. It made Betty warm in ways she did not want to think about. Betty had extricated herself from his grasp and headed to the bathroom while he had pretended to be asleep, but she knew better. She had been friends with Jughead since they were children and in love with him since she was eighteen, probably earlier if she had truly stopped moving or engaging in school activities for even a moment and considered having a boyfriend. Only Veronica knew her deeply guarded secret, and only then because she had finally broken Betty down on her twenty-first birthday after an excessive amount of tequila consumption. Since their first night, neither of them had brought up the sleeping arrangements again. What did that mean? Did he enjoy the intimacy as well?
“Focus, Betty,” she told herself as she fiddled with the festive red ribbon she had curled and woven into a giant bow. Attaching it to the bottle of wine she planned to bring to her mother’s house after church, along with a platter of cookies she had prepared. She pulled at the end of one curl, watching it spring back up to her satisfaction and smiled.
“Does this outfit say, ‘I’m sorry I’m holding your daughter hostage in my dungeon, but I tried to be presentable for church even though I’m an atheist and may burst into flames at any moment?’”
Betty turned and found Jughead fully dressed. He wore black pants, not suit or dress pants, but unwrinkled and clean, with a deep green shirt, cuffs rolled up to mid-arm. His trademark suspenders were upon his shoulders correctly. He was really trying not to make Alice any angrier than she already was.
Jughead cleared his throat and his amused eyes met Betty’s own embarrassed orbs. She had been staring, looking him over from head to toe.
“You look really handsome, Jug,” Betty said sweetly, gathering her composure and hoping her skin wasn’t as pink as her dress. “You definitely don’t look like a dungeon dweller tonight. You really don’t have to come to church though. You can just meet us for dinner. I know it’s not your thing.”
“Is it even your thing anymore?” he asked, curiously. The entire time they had lived in the city, he couldn’t remember Betty ever going to church at all.
Betty tilted her head and shrugged a bit. “It’s not not my thing? It’s more of a family thing. It’s what we always did when I was a kid, and I guess with Polly and the kids in Nebraska and my Dad gone, I kind of just do it for my mom. It’s a holiday tradition.”
Jughead searched Betty’s face and turned down one side of his lip at the sadness he found there. While his family had always been a wanna-be episode of the Jerry Springer show, Betty knew what it was like to have normalcy, for at least a little while. In her youth, when her sister was home and before Alice had gone off the rails, the holidays were probably a warm, family time she looked forward to.
“You’re a better daughter than she deserves, Betts,” he gushed out quickly. “Tell me about your holidays. We didn’t have too many Jones traditions. What memories make you the happiest?”
Betty bit at her lip and sat back on a stool, leaning against the kitchen counter. “My mother was always uptight and image-driven, so our Christmases had to look like the cover of a greeting card. But it wasn’t all bad. Every year we would go get a tree together and my dad would sing these operatic Christmas songs and my mom would complain, but soon she’d be singing as well. We’d build gingerbread houses, always perfect ones of course, but the smell in the smell of the cookies and the spices were just so warm.”
“Was that your favorite?” Jughead asked, feeling content himself with the soft smile on her lips. “Were the houses the best part?”
Betty shook her head and smiled wider, her eyes far-off somewhere. “Polly was always a bit more disinterested than I was in family traditions and stories. She would stay for a bit and then be off to her room, doing her own thing. I swear at ten she was already a teenager.”
Betty chuckled a bit at the thought and unconsciously reached out and began to fix his collar as she spoke. “After the tree was up, my dad would always pull out this super old angel. She was a family hand-me-down, made by this old Christmas company that used to have a factory here in New York. We’d sing this ridiculous song about a fairy on a Christmas tree and dance, and when it was all done he’d lift me up so I could put her on top. She always seemed ethereal to me, you know? And when that was done I felt like Christmas could start.”
She had finished fixing his collar midway through the story, but her hands and continued to play with the tips, falling then to tug at the suspenders at his shoulders. “That probably all sounds girly and silly now, doesn't it?”
“Not at all,” he smiled softly. “I bet it was really special.”
“I think about that a lot,” Betty sighed, looking down at the clip on his suspender. “Was my dad awful then, too? Was my mom unhappy? Was Polly spiraling? Maybe I was just lost in this fantasy of sugar plums and sparkles and completely unaware that the whole world was imploding beneath my feet. But still, I can’t help but smile when I think of that angel. You’ll see her tonight.”
“I can’t wait to see this ephemeral spirit,” he teased, pulling back from her a bit. “But we better go before we are late and your mother, church or not, eviscerates me publicly.”
“I’m sorry,” Betty grimaced. “I’m hoping that after being in church she will take it easy on you, but this is Alice Cooper we’re talking about.”
“I’m a big boy, Betty,” he assured her. “I can take whatever she dishes out. Let’s just get through dinner and when we get home I can eat my feelings by devouring the extra cookies you didn’t put on that platter.”
As Betty shrugged on her jacket, she raised an eyebrow pointedly at him. “Who says I saved some for you?”
Matching her look, he put on his own jacket, laughing when she finally cracked under his teasing gaze.
“They’re hidden in the microwave,” Betty giggled. “I didn't want you to eat them all before we even left.”
“Ahhh,” Jughead grinned. “Who needs a tree angel when I live with an actual angel who bakes. Now, let’s go. Maybe there will even be time to light a candle before it starts. You can light one for me because your mom is going to be praying for my demise, that we can count on.”
…..
Mass had come and gone quite uneventfully. They had made it in time and were relieved to find Veronica and Archie already in the pew by Alice, serving as the perfect buffer. They had just arrived back at the Cooper house and Alice was in the kitchen with Betty, finishing up heating the meal she had pre-cooked earlier. Jughead sat on a living room chair, while Veronica and Archie shared the couch, nervously chomping down on the cheeses and almonds Alice had unwrapped and placed out when they walked in.
“Nervous much?” Veronica teased. “Archie told me what you did for Betty...with her mom I mean. You are either very brave or very stupid.”
“I’m going with stupid,” Archie interjected.
Jughead ignored them and continued to snack.
“Well, Archiekins,” Veronica grinned. “Men do often do stupid things when they are in love.”
Jughead whipped his head up and glanced nervously into the kitchen before shooting a warning glare Veronica’s way. She simply shrugged and feigned complete innocence as he stood and made his way over to the Christmas tree, crossing his arms over his chest as he took a peek at Betty’s Christmas angel. To Jughead it just appeared to be like any other porcelain-headed, gold glitter dress-wearing, run of the mill angel. But then again, one year Gladys had fashioned a star for their tree out of tinsel and cut up Miller Lite cans, so who was he to judge antique angels anyway.
“Isn’t she pretty,” Betty gushed, stepping up behind him and taking Jughead by surprise by wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her head on his shoulder. “I named her Gloria, as in, in excelsis deo .”
“Is that gibberish...or…” he teased as Betty squeezed his sides playfully.
“Dinner,” Alice’s stern voice cut through the room. “Come to the table.”
Betty dropped her arms and grabbed Jughead’s hand, pulling him to the table and their friends watched, amused. Alice wasn’t unaware of her daughter’s level of comfort around Jughead either. Her expression was much more calculated and pointed.
The table was set with china and wine glasses, a bottle of red and the bottle of white Betty had bought placed out on the table. Alice had made manicotti, with meatballs and sausage as sides along with a large salad and fresh bread. Jughead was starving, having skipped lunch to work on his latest novel, something not commonplace for him. He waited patiently as Alice served them each, placing three of the deliciously cheesy pasta roll-ups on Archie, Veronica, Betty’s plates before dropping four on his, then serving herself.
“There’s plenty more, Jughead,” Alice sang sweetly as she dug her fork in and took a bite of her dish. “I know you’re no stranger to hunger pangs, but while you’re here you might as well have a good meal and fill your belly. It must be hard to eat well without an income.”
“Mom…” Betty warned her, tossing a glare across the table as Veronica and Archie sat wide-eyed and open-mouthed, catching flies as the scene unfolded.
“Oh, Elizabeth. Relax,” Alice laughed. “I’m sure you’re cooking for him as well. You always did like a good project. In retrospect, perhaps we should have named you Judy, after Jude.”
Betty’s jaw tightened and, if possible, Veronica’s jaw dropped further, the boy's clueless ad to Alice’s latest form of slander. As if she realized it, she went on to further explain.
“As in Saint Jude,” Alice explained, looking from Archie to Jughead. “The patron saint of lost causes.”
“Mother-” Betty burst out, but Jughead gripped her thigh quickly, stopping her mid-rant.
“You’re right, Mrs. Cooper,” he said, unbothered. He knew Alice’s issues with him were more about her failed relationship with his father than anything else. That and control. When Alice wasn’t in control she lashed out wildly. Betty not being truthful about being in town had offended her and this was her penance. “Betty takes great care of me. I’m lucky she can cook or I’d probably starve.”
Unable to formulate a quip for his response, the meal progressed quietly for a while, simple small talk about their parents and work flowing freely. With the plates cleared and placed in the dishwasher, Alice brought out a chocolate cake, massive and layered, covered in goopy decadent frosting.
“This looks amazing, Mrs. Cooper,” Veronica complimented. “I truly missed your baked goods. I’m always excited when Betty is in town because I know treats are not far behind.”
Alice began to cut the cake, a bit more forcefully than needed, as she considered Veronica’s words. “Yes, it is lovely to have Betty home. How long would you say you’re here for, Betty?”
Betty took a plate from her mother and passed it to Jughead. He stuffed a giant forkful in his mouth and planned on continuing to do so as he knew that they had been in the eye of the storm for the latter part of dinner and hurricane Alice was ready to start up the wind gusts again as she spewed disdain his way.
“I’m not really sure, Mom,” Betty answered quickly. “I have through the holidays and working from home isn’t too bad.”
Alice nodded, unable to meet her daughter’s eyes. “And what about you, Jughead? Are you looking for work or living off my daughter as long as possible?”
Veronica’s fork dropped to her plate and Archie’s trembled in his fingers. Jughead just chewed, not dropping Alice’s gaze as he glared back at her. He was calculating the best response, one that would leave her unable to respond, but that would aggravate her to no end, but Betty halted all that.
“I can’t do this anymore! I just can’t! I didn’t come here so you could berate Jughead and try and embarrass him, Mom!”
Alice went to speak, but Betty shot a hand up at her. “I lost my job!” she blurted out. “I lost my job so that’s why I am spending time in Riverdale! I needed a break while I job hunt so you can stop offending Jughead.”
A snide grin spread across Alice’s lips as she folded her arms and examined her daughter. “I know,” Alice chastised.
“And- wait. You- you know?” Betty stammered out. “Then why didn’t you… how..?”
“Oh please, Elizabeth,” Alice sighed with a roll of her eyes. “I’m a reporter and I know you don’t just get that kind of time off. So, I made a few calls and wasn’t I surprised to find that Alice Cooper’s daughter turned out to have no backbone when it came to journalistic integrity.”
Veronica and Archie exchanged worried glances as they watched Betty and Alice turning various shades of red, staring each other down. The two pushed back from the table, mumbling something about needing to visit Mary, and disappeared out the front door. Jughead sat still, stuck in the crossfire.
“Integrity?” Betty scoffed. “That’s exactly the reason why I lost my job, mom. I was fired because I refused to destroy people over something that wasn’t newsworthy.”
“Adulterers aren’t people Betty,” Alice yelled. “They need to be exposed for who they truly are.”
“People like Dad?” Betty seethed, dragging their own family history into things. “Just because Dad stepped out on you with Penelope Blossom doesn’t mean we need to splay the face of every philanderer across the headline!”
Alice shoved back from the table and stalked into the living room, Betty hot on her heels. “This isn’t about your father. I had already kicked him out when he engaged in such a relationship with that harlot. This is about you ruining the family image.”
“I ruined it?” Betty laughed. “You are the one who drove Dad to do what he did. You were always obsessed with having the perfect image. It drove him away. You drove him away.”
“Your father was a liar and a failure of a man, Elizabeth,” Alice spat. “It seems as if you’re following in his footsteps.”
Betty opened her mouth to speak but then closed it just as suddenly. She shook her head as her jaw trembled, willing herself not to cry. Abruptly, she turned from her mother and grabbed her coat.
“Let’s go, Jug,” she stammered, handing him his jacket as well and heading out into the car.
The ride home was quiet, Betty resting her head against the cold glass of the window. When they returned to the apartment, she headed into the bathroom, and moments later he heard the shower turn on. Jughead was very well versed in the unspoken language of Betty Cooper and this silence wasn’t a sign of anger. She was hurting, badly. And this, he wasn’t sure how to fix.
The water ran for a long while, much longer than normal. Did they even have that much hot water, he wondered? Tiptoeing to the bathroom door, he pressed his ear to the wood and from inside he heard a soft, muffled sniffling coming from inside. He hesitated for only a moment before pressing his way in to find Betty slumped in the corner in her fluffy robe, eyes blood-shot and red.
“Jug,” she gasped out, wiping furiously at her cheeks. “I’m fine. Honestly.”
“You’re far from fine, Betts,” he replied softly. “They say when it rains, it pours. The storm has to be clearing soon.”
The tenderness in his voice seized at her heart and Betty began to cry again. Without a moment’s hesitation, Jughead scooped her up off the bathroom floor and carried her to their room. She clung to him for a few moments, emptying her tears, comforted by the hand rubbing her back and the peaceful silence in the room. When her irregular breaths calmed, Jughead pulled back and sat her down on the bed, grabbing one of her sleep-shirts from her pajama drawer.
“Thank you, Jug,” she sniffled, offering him a small smile. “Everything else is falling apart, but I can always count on you to remain the one good thing in my life.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Betts,” he promised. “Except to get you a glass of water.”
Jughead darted to the kitchen and filled up a glass, only to return moments later to find her asleep on their bed. He untucked the covers and maneuvered Betty underneath, pulling them back up to her chin, before turning off the bedroom light. Sparing one more glance backward, he watched her breath rise and fall calmly and swore to himself that he would make sure Betty had the Christmas season she deserved, Alice Cooper be damned.
December 10
“Get dressed,” Jughead grinned, bobbing up and down next to Betty as he sipped coffee at their countertop.
“But my pajamas are warm and it’s like, twelve degrees outside. Why do I need to get dressed?” Betty groaned, taking another sip of the piping hot liquid.
She had spent the entire day before filling out job applications, one after another, while Jughead worked on a freelance article he had picked up from the online blog he did occasional work for. She had silently vowed to remain in her pajamas today and watch Christmas movies while Jughead wrote, but he seemed to feel the need to toss a wrench in her plans. Pouting, she swung her legs over the side of the stool and stood up, taking her coffee cup with her.
“Fine,” she drawled. “But only because it’s you who asked.”
Jughead smiled and poured himself a cup as well. “Dress warm!” he called out. “It’s really fucking cold out.”
Betty mumbled to herself as she shut the bedroom door and changed into jeans and an oversized sweater before re-emerging a few minutes later so find him expectantly waiting, their coffee placed in to-go thermoses.
“Okay,” she said, taking the cup from him gratefully. “Now tell me, why am I wearing real pants?”
“I mean, you could skip pants,” Jughead offered with a shrug. “Your extremities might freeze, but you have nice legs, so…”
“Jughead Jones!” Betty exclaimed, laughing as she swatted at him. “Since when have you become a leg man? I always took you for a boob kind of guy.”
“Equal opportunities and all,” he teased, putting on his coat. “You ready?”
“You still haven’t told me where we’re going,” Betty said softly, still grinning from their banter.
Jughead just tossed her another lopsided smile and picked up the keys to the truck. “Trust me?”
“Always,” Betty repeatedly, quickly and softly.
“Then get those pant-covered legs into the truck!” Jughead urged, pushing her out the door.
He started the truck and cranked up the heat, the antiquated system in FP’s old truck taking a long while to begin to warm up the frigid air in the cab.
“Sorry,” Jughead shrugged. “I should have come down and warmed it up earlier.”
“Please, Jug,” Betty said, waving him off. “I can handle a little cold. I won’t break. But, you can tell me where we are going.”
He pretended to contemplate telling her for a moment, tilting his head back and forth while humming as if he were mulling it over.
“I got up this morning and walked four blocks to the tree lot behind Thai Tanic. I wanted to surprise you and have you wake up to a tree,” he admitted, blushing a bit as he spoke under her soft gaze. “But the trees were a hundred bucks and I figured that was not a wise use of savings.”
“Juggie,” Betty cooed. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done or tried to do. Just the fact that you wanted to do that for me, on top of everything else you’ve done recently, is enough to warm my sad, cold heart.”
“Your heart is anything but cold, Betty,” Jughead said, a bit self-consciously, glancing out the front window and not daring to look at her.
Biting at her lip, Betty slid across the bench seat and pressed a kiss against his cheek, her hot breath a stark contrast to the freezing cold air in the car. Jughead awkwardly mumbled something about breath temperature and body heat, Betty smiled at him but didn’t move from his side. Pulling away from the curb, Jughead cleared his throat and shared his plans, needing a distraction.
“So, the ridiculous price of trees made me angry this morning. It took me back to my whiny days of youth here in Riverdale where I pointed out every injustice the town had to offer. I thought, ‘what would Serpent Jughead do?’ and it came to me.”
“What?” Betty smiled into his shoulder. “What came to you?”
Jughead pulled over, off-roaring into a clearing in Fox Forest before killing the engine and reaching into the back seat where he had an axe and some rope. “Feel like committing a felony with me, Cooper?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows and staring her down in a dare.
“Wouldn’t be our first together, Jug. Or second… or third,” she added, grimacing at how many laws they had broken together.
“Was I your first… I mean, the first time you broke a law?” he asked with a grin.
“You were,” Betty teased back, still pressed into his side. “All my firsts were with you Juggie… breaking and entering, drag racing, grand theft auto…”
“That’s quite a list. I can think of a few more to add,” he said, voice a bit squeaky due to her proximity.
“Let’s go add deforestation to the list,” Betty grinned, taking the axe from his lap. “I planted enough of these as a Girl Scout. I think we deserve to take one back.”
An hour later they were still chopping away at the tree trunk.
“Fuck,” he panted, leaning against the axe for a moment as Betty laughed from his side, also tired from the swings she had taken as well. “This looks so much easier on TV. How did our ancestors survive? Apparently, I have terrible stamina.”
“I don’t know,” Betty said teasingly, raising an eyebrow. “Your stamina has been pretty impressive to me, Jug.”
He wanted to provide her with a witty comeback, but an awkward, quick, overzealous chuckle that he tried to swallow and repress was all he got out, causing her to giggle more.
“Your lips are a little blue and your nose could rival Rudolph’s, Betts.” He pointed out instead when her laughter had subsided. “Think we are through enough on both sides to try and push it down?”
“Only one way to find out, Juggie,” Betty shrugged, hopping over to the side of the tree in excitement.
They wrapped their arms around the trunk and braced their shoulders against the bark, digging their heels into the snow that had freshly coated the ground the previous day and began to push as hard as they could. Teeth gritting and yelling out from the strenuous force which they were exerting, the tree didn’t budge, but they did. Jughead’s foot slipped and as he grabbed for the tree, he unconsciously gripped Betty’s jacket as well, pulling her down to the ground directly on top of him.
Groaning, he opened his eyes to find a giggling Betty only millimeters away from him, the top of her nose brushing his own.
“Thanks for breaking my fall, Jug,” she chuckled, rubbing her cold nose against his for a moment before flipping onto her side next to him, grabbing his hand to keep them connected. “Maybe we should get poster board and just draw a tree. It would be warmer.”
“Betty Cooper,” Jughead cried. “I spent the better part of an hour chopping away at that thing and you want to craft a tree from a broken up, pulped, watered-down dead one? Oh no, we are finishing the job and taking that thing home.”
A sudden crack drew their eyes upward as the tree began to rock and sway, finally giving way from the piece of the trunk attached to the roots in the ground. Without thinking Jughead rolled over and covered Betty’s body with his own, closing his eyes and bracing for an impact that never came. A light thump and a whoosh had them both looking over his shoulder to see the tree had fallen the other way. Releasing a worried breath, Jughead slumped over her, grateful their adventure hadn’t resulted in death or maiming.
“My hero,” Betty simpered, tugging on his ear that was sticking out of his hat.
“I am?” He teased back. “If that thing fell I was hoping to use you as a cushion between me and the hard, cold ground.”
Betty glared at him as he laughed, before yelling out a girly scream as Betty gripped a pile of snow in her palm and stuffed it down the back of his coat. Pulling herself up at his startle, they engaged in a full-on battle, pummeling each other with snowball after snowball until they were both soaked and frozen to the bone.
“Truce,” Betty called, crying as she belly-laughed.
“Truce,” he agreed, eyeing the tree on the ground before them. “Is this going to fit in our place?”
“Do we even have a tree stand?”
After another fit of giggles and twenty minutes of maneuvering, the tree was secure and on its way home.
.....
They didn’t have a tree stand. Their tree currently stood, propped in the corner as they both cocked their head to the side and examined it. At least it fit up the stairwell and into the house.
“I’m too cold to go back out,” Jughead chattered, unraveling his scarf and finally pulling off his gloves and hat as Betty did the same. “I’ll text Archie now. I bet he has some extra from when they ran the tree lot.”
Betty silently nodded, removing her coat and hanging it on the rack, holding out her hand for his and doing the same.
“We should drink tea,” she stammered out, teeth still clacking from their cold foray into the woods and home in the old truck that wouldn’t warm up. “But I’m too cold to make it.”
Clicking on the TV, Jughead laid back on the couch and pulled his old, thick flannel blanket on top of himself. “First, prevent hypothermia. Second, brew tea. Or cocoa. I vote cocoa.”
Betty watched Jughead’s body disappear under the blanket, only his face and fingers still visible as he held the old fabric to his chin, before looking over at their tree. She was a popsicle, but happy. Happier than she had been in a while. Without a second thought, Betty crossed the room and lifted the edge of his blanket, and slid herself in all the way to the back of the couch, and rested her head on his chest. She felt him stiffen below her before relaxing again as he brought up a hand to rest on her back.
“Body heat,” she offered weakly. “We’ll warm up faster this way.”
“I heard that works best if you’re naked,” he teased, his voice muffled into the top of her head.
“Jug, if my clothes weren’t actually frosted to my body, I swear I’d be stripping. I’m so cold.”
He got quiet after that and so did she, listening to his heartbeat and her breathing, they both fell into a peaceful sleep. Archie showed up a while later, knocking on the door with no answer, letting himself in with the spare they had given him and Ronnie for emergencies. He smiled at his entwined, sleeping friends, and left the tree stand on the kitchen counter.