Author's Note: My first ever fanfiction! I'm having loads of fun, but know I have a lot to learn.

Dislaimer: I do not own the characters or settings from either Riverdale or the Archie Comics. All I own is the chattering brain that keeps filling in the conversations that I think should have happened, but didn't, on the show. I will not profit in any way from these stories, except by learning from any feedback other writers may offer.

Chapter 1

"Are you up?"

The incoming text lit up the screen of Jughead Jones' battered, second-hand phone, casting a faint glow in the darkened bedroom he was currently sharing with Archie Andrews and making him smile. Only Betty Cooper would send him a late-night text with flawless spelling; he'd have known the message was from her, even without her name displayed across the top of his screen, just above the spiderweb crack that had brought the phone into his price range.

"Sure," he answered quickly. "What's up?"

"Can you come over?"

Jughead paused a moment, glancing at Archie's alarm clock. 11:16 p.m. Not ridiculously late, but late enough on a school night to make the request surprising. Archie had been breathing heavily for a good 20 minutes already. Betty's bedroom light had gone out almost an hour ago – not that he'd been watching, of course. And Jughead couldn't imagine Mama Cooper would welcome him with open arms if he arrived on the front porch close to midnight.

On the other hand, he was up. And, admittedly, curious about Betty's unprecedented request for an after-dark visit. Not to mention, of course, that going to see Betty sounded a hell of a lot better than lying here on a sagging air mattress, staring at the ceiling and listening to Archie's even breathing while trying to ignoring the somewhat oppressive atmosphere of laundry that had passed its "best before" date several days earlier.

"On my way. Door?" he typed, even as he rolled off the mattress and scuffed his feet into the flip flops that had served as shower shoes during his brief residence under the stairs at Riverdale High, and that now functioned as bedroom slippers.

It was a stupid question, actually. He knew enough about Betty's parents to be fairly certain she wasn't inviting him to waltz up to the front door and ring the bell at this hour of the night.

Sure enough, before he even made it to Archie's bedroom door, Betty's unambiguous reply came back.

"Window!"

He smiled again as he crept down the Andrews' stairs, taking care to avoid the creaky tread on the third step from the bottom. He could just picture Betty's trademark ponytail swinging emphatically as she pounded out those extra exclamation points.

He eased the back door open and closed it softly behind himself. The fall night was cool, but not yet cold. The grass was still wet from the rain that had drizzled down sullenly all day, but the sky was clear now, the moon almost full and lighting his way as he padded across the lawn to the house next door.

It took only a moment to locate the ladder he'd used on a previous occasion, now leaning against the Cooper's detached garage. Another moment, and it was leaning against the house beneath Betty's window.

Wet flip flops, he reflected wryly, were not ideally suited to climbing ladders in the dark, even with a solid beam of moonlight to help him navigate. But he'd risk a lot more than a fall of a few feet, in order to be there for Betty if she needed him. And his curiosity was now tinged with just a bit of concern as he reflected on the oddness of this request. Betty had a lot on her plate these days, and if she needed a shoulder to cry on… or one of his kidneys, for that matter… he wasn't about to let her down.

He'd planned to tap on the glass as he had during his previous visit to this window, just a few days ago, but as soon as he neared the top of the ladder, the window sash slid up.

"Hey there, Juliet," he said as he stepped over the windowsill and into her room. It was an echo from his last visit, a fleeting moment in time that had altered his world in ways he hadn't even begun to process yet. Until he'd climbed the ladder into this room, no one had touched him in months. No hugs, no pats on the back. He wasn't sure anyone had connected with him physically in any way since his mom grabbed Jellybean and left town, and that was more than six months ago. Yet in one moment of insanity, he'd reached out and kissed Betty Cooper… and everything had changed. He'd been bathed in her touch since that moment. She held his hand when they walked together, leaned into him when they sat side-by-side in a booth at Pop's or on the couch in the student lounge. She touched his hand or his shoulder when they talked together, pressed her forehead to his to reassure him when things got hard. And in just a few short days, those fleeting moments of contact had become more real, more essential, than anything else in his life.

But, as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light in Betty's room, away from the dazzle of moonlight on wet ground, his reminiscent smile faded.

At any other time, his attention might have been captured by the thin, white cotton nightgown she was wearing, sweet and delicate-looking, but covering far less of her than her usual jeans and blouses and sweaters. Tonight, though, he scarcely registered her bare arms and legs beneath the lace edging of her nightie.

Betty was crying. No, scratch that. Betty was full-on distraught. Her eyes were huge and haunted, red-rimmed in her pale face. Her breath was coming in short gasps and sobs. And she was shaking, her whole body trembling like aspen leaves in a cold wind.

"Hey," he repeated softly, all teasing gone from his tone, every thought fleeing save for one. She needed him.