I

Betty looked back and forth between Archie and Veronica. She was already feeling a desperate dizziness as she strove to find Jughead, to stick with him the way she should have from the moment they heard his father had been arrested. Now her two friends―the sight of whom frankly made her so furiously angry Betty struggled not to tear her own dress apart with the blind ferocity of Cinderella's stepsisters―were suddenly on her side again? Bringing her a theory about FP's framing? Imagining those two snooping around and concocting theories of their own was so baffling to Betty that she might have been proud if she wasn't already feeling so betrayed.

Beyond words, Betty brushed past them, out the front door of Pop's and into the rain that was once again trickling down. Tonight, Betty felt like everything had flipped; Jason Blossom's supposed drowning in Sweetwater River had set the events of the past year in motion and now water was pouring down over them as a few tried to seek the truth, and most tried to hide it. Betty imagined Riverdale as a snow globe, inverted and shaken, clues drifting past on paths of their own.

The trailer. The closet. The gun. Why? Betty balled her hands in the pockets of her coat as rain beaded and raced down the sleeves. And where did Archie and Veronica really stand? Could she trust them again after they'd gone behind not only her own back, but Jughead's as well? The two that Betty had admittedly just about written out of the murder mystery narrative now slunk beyond her reach, shadowy foils of Betty and Jughead's more ethical investigations.

Betty craved one normal night, just one night where dressing up on the outside didn't mean becoming an uglier version of yourself on the inside. One night where having her boyfriend and his dad over for family dinner wasn't a front for her mother's around-the-clock interrogations and a chance for her closest friends to try their hands at breaking and entering.

She had been stomping down the town's sidewalks faster and faster, her shoes filling and her fingernails only just resisting digging into the still-healing trenches in her palms, but now she stopped. Betty closed her eyes and tilted her head back until the raindrops beat against her face and snaked coolly back into her hair. She felt like Jason Blossom. She felt like she was drowning.

Betty lowered her head and continued on.

When she got to Jughead's father's trailer, Betty knew her boyfriend had been there. The lights were off, but the garishly yellow police tape hung limp, battered down by the rain, making Betty think of the wilting streamers she was going to have to go into school early on Monday to pull down. Of course.

She found him at the school.

Jughead was reclining in a metal chair; the shining soles of his sneakers propped on the table in front of him were visible to Betty as she entered the gym. He looked up at her as she turned the corner and held her gaze as she approached. When she was near enough to read his expression, Betty was surprised to see that Jughead's stiffness wasn't from anger, but rather an attempt to not appear as in distress as he clearly had been before she'd arrived. The wateriness of his eyes and unnatural flush of his cheeks were Betty's indications that he'd been crying. She sat down across from him, her eyebrows pulling together in concern and sympathy.

"I'm so sorry about your dad, Juggy," Betty said softly. "Especially…" she started to get choked up and had to pause, "…especially after what I can infer he must have said to you about bringing your family back together."

Jughead made a noise that was half derision, half despair. "It doesn't matter now." His head fell back as he stared at the ceiling. Betty wondered what he could see. She'd looked for answers earlier, outside, hopelessly and probingly, but had seen nothing but the underbelly of vast dark clouds.

"It does matter, Jughead." Betty reached impulsively for his hand, lying lifeless on the tabletop. She hoped the greatest victory she felt tonight wouldn't be that Jughead didn't pull his hand away when hers covered it.

"No," he replied. Jughead's free hand shot up, his fingers chasing the tears that flowed from the corners of his eyes and flicking them away.

Betty felt like her heart was breaking. She rose from her seat and came around to Jughead's side of the table, keeping hold of his hand. She was about to sit in the chair next to his when he turned his head and looked at her. Jughead's green-blue eyes were unreally bright, his mouth red, the foremost curl of his hair caressing the slight dip of his temple. To Betty, he was all teenage boy beauty and a pain that's worse than physical injury: the pain of disappointment. She sat on his lap instead and when his arms came around her, it wasn't mechanical or automatic. He was alone and he needed her.

Betty pulled the hat from his head, holding it at arm's length to shake as much water from it as she could, then laid it reverently on the table. She took his face in her hands, dragging her thumbs lightly beneath his eyes to dry them, feeling his lashes wisp against her fingertips.

Embarrassed to have her the only one making an effort, Jughead pulled a Kleenex from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and turned away from Betty, blowing his nose thoroughly. He flung the tissue at a nearby garbage bin. Naturally there was one placed conveniently close; Betty was an exceptionally thoughtful organizer, even with her mind on so many things right now.

Jughead took a deep breath, seeming to recover from the worst of his upset, and looked at Betty. At once, she took his face back between her palms and pressed her lips to his. She wasn't sure if Jughead had really thought of her this evening―obviously, his father's potential incarceration was a much larger cause for worry―but she'd thought of nothing but him. And now she'd found him.

When she pulled back, Jughead's fingers smoothed through her hair, which was now drying and twisting out of the straight style she'd forced on it before dinner. Dinner. Which now seemed like it had taken place at least a month ago.

Jughead brought her back to the present by glancing around and remarking, "It really looks great, Betts."

Betty looked around too. The streamers had not yet drooped. All of the balloons were still fully inflated. Garbage had mostly made its way into the receptacles she'd artfully scattered throughout the large space. She turned back to Jughead.

"Thanks, Juggy. That means a lot." She gave him a smile. "Though, it would mean more if you hadn't decided to put your soggy shoes up on one of the tables." She raised an eyebrow at him.

Jughead let out a laugh. "Actually, if you really looked you'd notice I picked a table without a tablecloth for the exact reason that I was taking your decorations into consideration."

There was a squeak as Jughead moved his foot, highlighting the lack of coloured paper beneath it, though displaying the dirty puddle that had begun to form.

"Thanks?" Betty replied, her expression one of exaggerated disgust.

Jughead rubbed her back gently over her coat, then flicked his hand to get the water off. Betty unbuttoned her outer layer and shrugged it off, throwing it over another chair. His hand immediately sought the bare skin between her shoulder blades and Betty leaned into Jughead, resting her head on his shoulder.

She was still for a few minutes as Jughead's fingers traced back and forth across the top edge of the back of her dress, but after the night's surprises and subterfuge, Betty needed to clear the air.

"So, are we going to talk?"

"Uuugh," Jughead groaned. Betty felt the sound vibrate in his chest and smiled in spite of the seriousness of the situation.

"I just want to tell you that I was wrong. I should have let you know that I was suspicious of my mother's intentions with that dinner. What I said about not telling you because you were so happy is true, but that was no excuse." Betty shifted carefully in his lap so she could look levelly at him. "I had a fight with her about it when I got home and made my feelings pretty clear." Betty sighed. That was another scene she didn't really want to face. Not tonight at least.

Jughead drew his chin back in disbelief. "And she was just fine with you standing up to her and then taking off?"

"I knew you would need me. And I needed you." Betty lowered her eyes, hoping she didn't sound selfish.

Jughead hugged her tight to him, resting the side of his face against hers. "I do. You're basically the only family I have right now, Betty."

The corner of Betty's mouth twitched up and she pulled back so he could see her face. "That's the same thing I told my mom."

Jughead had the same sort of look he'd had when they'd initially spoken about the family dinner, but somehow his smile was wider, the joy in his eyes more evident. He didn't ask her to go on, but Betty felt she owed it to him to show more of what she was feeling rather than less.

"Nothing was getting through to her so I just told her that I needed to be with you." Betty's eyelids dropped. "I said that you're more like family to me than she is right now."

Jughead shook his head, marvelling at Betty's strength.

"I said that I had to be where you were because…" She looked into his eyes. "…I love you."

Jughead's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open to speak.

"But," Betty continued, "I should also tell you that I'm glad you're not moving away yet. That probably sounds horrible since the reason is your dad being arrested, but I want to be honest. I love you and I don't want you to go."

She looked at him nervously and Jughead let out a deep sigh.

"I don't want to go either. Everything that's happened with my family has been on my dad's terms." He lifted his arm and ran a hand through his hair. "I mean, my mom chose to leave with Jellybean, but that's just because of my dad. I don't want him to separate us too." Jughead took her hand and stared at it as his thumb smoothed across her skin.

"Somewhere you aren't… isn't the right place for me." He lifted his head. Betty smiled at him.

"I love you too, Betty."

Betty wanted so badly to kiss him, but judged that Jughead needed oxygen just then because of how much his heart was pounding where she leaned against his chest.

Jughead went on. "Riverdale is my home. I don't want to run. I want to finish my book. It just feels like everything's falling apart right now." He shook his head.

Betty laced her fingers through his. "Hey." She stroked the side of his face. "Not everything. We'll solve this thing, Juggy. We'll make it safe again, and then you won't have to leave because your mom and your sister will be able to come back here."

Jughead's expression was bleak. "It's not exactly going to be a Rockwell Thanksgiving with my dad stuck behind bars."

"Well," Betty looked down. "I ran into Archie and Veronica at Pop's earlier when I was looking for you. They think your dad was framed."

Jughead shrugged. "I think that too, but I'm not blind to the role my dad conveniently fills for these people. Why look any further for a scapegoat than the frequently unemployed, habitually inebriated, leader of the Serpents?"

"We can use that though, Juggy!" Betty started to get excited. "We make a list of who would see your dad that way."

Jughead snorted. "I can answer that right now: everyone."

Betty shook her head, thinking. "Then maybe it's not the right way to look at it. Framing someone is all about misdirection, so we can't assume their motives will be straightforward either."

"So," Jughead pulled his feet off the table and let the bottom of his shoes smack the gym floor. "We ignore the usual suspects. It probably isn't somebody who had that generic view of my dad that anyone in Riverdale could get from his reputation alone." Jughead tapped the table sharply and repeatedly with his index finger. "It's personal. Somehow, it's personal."