50Welcome to story six of the Jughead-is-held-hostage-and-stuff series! I actually intend for this to be capable of standing as a conclusion to the series (I'm trying to convince myself as well as prepare you all for that possibility), but I make zero guarantees. Life, characters, and all of that have proven to me time and again that I cannot stand up effectively to the siren call of the sequel. Or fifth sequel, as the case may be. :)
C'est la vie!
If you're hopping in here, I'd advise at least reading story five (Shifting Territories), since we've got a whole lot of fallout from that story that we're dealing with from the outset. I have not heard definitively from any reader that Shifting Territories successfully stands alone(?), but I did make an effort to scaffold it so that people could jump in there if they wanted. Otherwise, well, Beggars Can't Be Choosers is the first in the series and I have clearly marked the order of the stories in the series (see you in a week or two? :).
Enjoy!
-Button
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Prologue
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Brand took the stairs two at a time, and even so FP had one hand pressed between his shoulder blades, urging him to move more quickly.
They burst into Jones' old room, and when the light switch did nothing - the room remained lit only by the moonlight through the window -, the many quotes written on the plain wallpaper seemed to shift eerily on the walls.
"He's not here." FP stumbled further into the room, and anger warred with panic in his tone. "Brandon, he's-,"
"We're here, Dad. Brand." Jughead's voice emanated shakily from the shadowed alcove he'd long since converted from a closet by removing its door. "We're right here."
"What do you mean, 'we'?" Brand started fumbling for the lamp. The light switch was turned on, so if he could just find the pull chain on the lamp he could get some light into the room. "Are you okay, kid?"
"I kidnapped someone, Brand." Jughead's voice was suddenly filled with tears. "Can I get in trouble for that? If they were already kidnapped?"
FP started fumbling toward the closet in the dark. "You what?"
"He rescued someone, FP." Brand had a terrible flash of clarity, just as his hand found the lamp's chain. He pulled it, and light spilled over the room - and the situation. "Jones rescued someone who didn't want to be rescued. And probably with good reason."
Sure enough, there were two teenage boys huddled on the closet floor. Both were looking up fearfully at Brand and FP.
"This is not going to make our mission any easier." Brand rubbed the back of his neck.
"Shut up, Brandon." FP moved to the closet and crouched to pull Jughead into a hug. "You did the right thing, Jug. I would have given anything for someone to bring you home to me when it was you who was missing. We'll figure this out together."
"We're gonna have to." Brand's tone was dry, but he softened when he met Jughead's worried gaze over FP's shoulder. "It'll be okay. You only made the same decision I did about you, kid. Sometimes it's worth the risk."
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Chapter One
(Two Weeks After The Conclusion of Shifting Territories)
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Jughead barely caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, and he reacted instantly. His elbow was up and coming around while he twisted his body and dropped his center of gravity.
And then a set of arms that were not supposed to be a part of this bout grabbed him and he was taken powerfully - but carefully - to the floor.
"Whoa, killer!" Brand was laughing as he broke the worst of the impact before it could jar any sharply aching ribs, and then gave his godson's head a playful shove into the padding on the floor of the Joneses' basement.
Nobody else was laughing.
"Um," Jughead shifted uncomfortably under Brand's weight and tried to see up and behind him. "Are you okay, Betty?"
"I'm fine!" Betty's voice squeaked and she coughed once. "Maybe… I mean, it's possible that you're too good at this to teach me, Jug."
"He needs to learn how to teach. Besides, he's still recovering; once you figure out how to exploit his ribs, this should be a piece of cake, Cooper." Brand's voice was suddenly businesslike as he climbed to his feet and dragged Jughead stumbling after him. "Again."
"Absolutely not." Agent Sarah Quinn stepped in then - literally - and turned her back on Brand in order to face Betty. "This was a fine experiment, but I think it's one that has failed. Maybe you and I should work together for a few weeks while those two develop some teaching techniques that don't involve Jughead overriding battle-hardened instincts. His ribs can finish healing, too. How does that sound?"
"I would love that," Betty answered eagerly. "But are you sure you have the time? I know a lot's changing for you at work right now."
"Not as much as you'd think," Agent Quinn shrugged. "I was only ever with the RA on a temporary basis. I was always headed to the field office once things quieted down in the Southside. And Davies isn't wrong; teaching is an important skill to keep up, so you'd really be doing me a favor. So. Are you in?"
"Definitely. Thanks." Betty beamed.
Jughead gave Brand a frustrated look.
"What, kid? You nearly creamed your girlfriend. So you get fired as personal trainer. That's how it works. You and I can practice on your dad for a few weeks and then give this another go."
"Are you being careful when you train with FP?" Sarah looked from Brand to Jughead, clearly concerned. "Should he try working with me and Betty for a while too?"
"That would be fine with me," Betty offered quickly.
"Think long and hard about your answer, Brandon." FP's voice rang out in the basement. Jughead looked up the stairs to where his father was leaning into view. "You've got two witnesses, plus Trigger, who need to corroborate your story."
"You are fine, FP." Brand glowered. "What he's so subtly referring to is the fact that we're officially taking a break from improvised weapons training. Because FP is lethal with a glass water pitcher."
"We're also on a break from training while setting the table. It was a housewarming gift from the Andrews family," Jughead interjected, "so I think Brand must have scared Dad or he would have come up with something else."
Betty and Agent Quinn blinked at the men.
"Do you three just… do this? Randomly?" Agent Quinn asked the question with a decidedly neutral tone, but seemed braced against their answer.
"There is nothing random about good training habits-," Brand began, but FP shouted him down from the top of the staircase.
"See, Brandon? Stated training times. Listen to the FBI on this one."
Jughead's tone was anxious when he interjected. "But then I won't be-,"
"Wound so tightly that you nearly break your girlfriend's face?" Agent Quinn interrupted, and Jughead winced - but then he saw that Agent Sarah wasn't even looking at him. She was focused on Brand.
"This is what he needs-," Brand began.
"He does not live in a combat zone - and you know what, even if he did-," Sarah squared her shoulders.
Betty and Jughead quickly made their way to the stairs as Brand and Agent Quinn turned to face off with each other. It looked like this might turn into an argument.
And then it didn't.
"Look, why don't you just come at me." Brand waved Sarah toward himself. "Show me what you've got and we can compare teaching techniques."
Sarah looked shocked for a moment, but then she studied Brand's easy grin. A smile spread across her face, and moments later they were both laughing and sparring at half speed while Brand made suggestions and Sarah countered them with some ideas of her own.
FP motioned for the two teens to come upstairs, and they quickly obeyed.
Jughead closed the door to the basement. "Man. I've never seen Brand fight with anyone like that. He was being nice."
"That's the sort of fighting that you don't take out in public, boy. Brandon needs to sort some things out if those two really aren't planning to date," FP responded dryly. That had been Brand's line about the dinner invitation: they were just colleagues, and she was more a 'friend of the family' than anything else. "Come help me finish up with dinner while they blow off some steam. You can let Trigger out of your room if you're done sparring."
Betty glanced back at the basement door with a slight frown. "Agent Quinn has some strong opinions about your training, Juggie."
"Yeah. Sure. About my training," Jughead scoffed as he bounded up the stairs to let Trig join the party.
FP looked back over his shoulder as he led Betty into the kitchen. "Hang on; what do you think that's really about, Jughead?"
Jughead shrugged as he walked back toward the kitchen with Trigger pressed against his left leg and snuffling him for unfamiliar scents. He was suddenly reluctant to share his theory in front of Betty. "I don't know. I haven't talked to Brand - to either of them - about it."
"If you had to make a wild guess." FP turned to face Jughead then, his eyes narrowing. "Do you think this has anything to do with debrief-,"
Jughead's eyes went wide and his father stopped short. It was too late, though.
"Wait... Agent Quinn was involved in your debriefing?" Betty looked from FP to Jughead, and the answer was clearly written on both of their faces.
"Well," FP rubbed the back of his neck, not sure if he should feel badly about giving away that information to Betty or annoyed with Jughead for putting him into this position, "it sounds like they're winding down if you two feel the need to take over the basement for a few minutes and clear the air."
"Very funny, Dad. And, uh, Agent Quinn did one part of my debriefing. At the beginning. It's not, like, anything big-,"
"Okay. But you think they might disagree over it? Why?"
Jughead heard his father snort with laughter as he put all of that together.
"Brand didn't seem particularly... responsible in most of the stories we focused on during debriefing." Jughead shrugged again, trying to lighten the impact of his words.
"Because you missed so much school?" Betty guessed, wrinkling her nose sympathetically.
"Uh… sure." Jughead heard his dad snort a second time and elbowed him. FP simply looped an arm around his son's shoulders and then playfully restrained him with a hold that Brand had taught him. "Anyway, it's classified. We should talk about something else. And Dad, I can get out of this one, but you won't like it if I do."
FP let Jughead go.
"Are you okay?" Betty turned to FP then, responding to his continued snickering. Her tone became wry in clear support of Jughead in this exchange - even though she was not sure what the father and son were disagreeing about. "Do you maybe need some water?"
"Yeah. Water would be great." FP smirked at Jughead when Betty turned to fill a glass with ice water. "Thank you, Betty."
Jughead folded his arms.
"Brandon just had to bring a coworker to dinner, huh? Well, this is what he gets. The one person who has the inside track on his faults." FP nodded to himself in satisfaction. "This could be fun."
They heard footsteps coming up from the basement and quickly busied themselves with moving the food from the kitchen to the dining room table.
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"Turn off your cellphone, kid." Brand was in a good mood over dinner, but by the time they were finishing and almost ready for dessert, Jughead felt like he was getting a little more negative attention than usual. It was almost as if Brand was focusing on him to avoid focusing on-
"Brandon. I don't think he's hurting anything." Agent Quinn apparently had more opinions about Brand and Jughead.
"No - he's right - I should have turned it off." Jughead tried to appease them both and quickly got up from the table to stop his phone's vibrations on the kitchen island. "I've actually got a bad track record with leaving my phone on vibrate. Thanks, Brand."
That was apparently a little too much: Brand gave Jughead a warning look as he returned to the table and took his seat next to Betty.
And then Brand's phone began to buzz in his pocket.
"Who would call me if they couldn't reach you?" Brand checked his phone with a frown.
Betty turned to Jughead, who shrugged. He hadn't even looked to see who had been calling.
"You have your phone on, and in your pocket?" Once again, Agent Quinn's tone was studiously neutral, but Brand ducked his head and avoided acknowledging her words.
"Aha. Clark; that's who." Brand stepped swiftly away from the table. "I'll be right back."
Silence fell over the table.
"So, Agent Quinn, I hear you like to cook as well," FP attempted to revive the conversation.
"Oh, I don't know if 'as well' is the right way of saying it," Sarah replied warmly. "I enjoy it; Davies is a little more devoted to the process than I am."
"Tell me about it." Jughead lit up over this unexpected source of solidarity. "But we had a bake-off, and even he had to admit that-,"
"I've gotta go." Brand came back through the room at a run, scooping up his shoes and slipping them on quickly. "I'll be back in twenty."
"What's going on?" Jughead was up and following before he'd fully thought it through. He turned back to the table. "Uh, Betty, do you mind if I just- it's Clark, and-,"
"Go, Jughead. I'll see you in twenty minutes." Betty nodded encouragingly. "You should help if you can."
The door closed behind them.
This time Sarah broke the silence. "Do they do that often? Kind of a… bat signal thing?"
"Nope. That's a first." FP shrugged, unconcerned. "It can't be much to write home about. You know Clark, right?"
"I do. He's sweet." Sarah nodded. "And yes, in my experience he's relatively low drama. You think it's a plumbing emergency? Maybe a cat got out? He seems like he'd have cats."
"Could be his car broke down, and we should have sent Betty along too." FP smiled over at his other guest, and Betty returned his smile with a modest shrug. "I don't think those two will be much help if that's the issue. But I can't complain about being left here with the best of the evening's company. Did you know Jug made mousse for dessert? We could make a dent in that in twenty minutes. I've got a few three-player games that we could break out, too."
"Sounds good." Betty turned to Sarah. "So, what are your favorite things to cook?"
"Well, I'm sure Jughead told you about the croissants," Sarah seemed not to notice when a shadow passed over Betty's expression, "but when I have the time I really like to make eclairs. It's a dangerous habit, but entirely addicting."
"Oh? Do you have dinner plans for next Friday?" FP grinned as he stood and began clearing the table.
"I'll check my schedule. I can send a dozen home with Jughead between now and then, too; you don't have to bribe me, and I'm always looking for someone to eat what I've made - although the burgers were excellent. So actually, bribery would most definitely work."
"Thank you." FP began rinsing the dishes and filling the dishwasher. "Jughead and Brandon had their doubts, but good ingredients make good food, no matter what they were worried might magically happen on the broiler. And keep this quiet, but I've paid attention here and there to their cooking sessions."
"Is it intimidating to cook for them?" Betty asked as she pulled out the board games she could see on a shelf under the coffee table. "I'm starting to get nervous about inviting Jughead over for meals."
"Just have him do the cooking and enjoy. I barely have to lift a finger in the kitchen anymore," FP confided. "It's a good system, and they haven't realized that, for the most part, doing the dishes is basically filling a machine and pressing a button - so don't you two fill them in."
Sarah and Betty laughed as they selected a speed-based pattern recognition game and brought it to the table.
"Ahh, you would pick that one." FP shook his head mournfully. "Well, I can at least try for a respectable third place. Let me get you ladies some mousse while you set it up."
They settled in comfortably to play a few speedy rounds while they waited for an update from the missing two.
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"You left a date?" Clark was sitting on the floor of the tiny galley kitchen in his studio apartment, his arms wrapped around his knees. "Both of you did?"
"No." Brand offered Clark a hand up.
"The real date's tomorrow, and it definitely won't include my dad and Brand," Jughead added. "I had thought we'd get some time practicing martial arts, and that might be vaguely date-like, but-,"
"But he's a machine. Like the Terminator. He doesn't turn it off well." Brand pulled Clark to his feet. "Let's see this threatening letter."
The card stock and handwriting was identical to the ones that Jughead had received in the spring from Donn, and it read 'Watch yourself. You're not under the same protection as FP, so spilling your guts could easily turn literal.'
"It's not so much the threat," Clark began to explain. "It's that whoever wrote this knows stuff they shouldn't. Nobody outside of the RA and field office should know that Jones' father is an asset, and somehow they also know that I've been read into the Southside investigation. Such as it is at this point."
The court cases were in process, and both Clark and Jughead had been debriefed by Agent Quinn once she'd finished the slightly less complicated interviews with Archie. They'd also been officially read into FP's role with the FBI in broad strokes, though they were not privy to any details. Jughead figured that was partly because there were no details. He hadn't noticed his dad going anywhere unusual - suspicious - since the bombing, and he'd been watching closely.
Brand's eyebrows were up. "Do you think that FP has different protection from yours as an intern?"
Jughead looked back and forth between Clark and Brand, his eyes wide. It sounded like Brand wondered if Clark knew a little too much about Donn or Rose, but Jughead couldn't come up with anything he could say on the fly that would help - and not have the potential to make things much, much worse.
"Uh." Clark looked at the note again. "Doesn't he?"
Brand made brief eye contact with Jughead, and the teen was relieved to see that Brand had decided that he believed Clark was clueless. "He's got the Serpents. That's probably all this joker means. But I don't like that this showed up here less than a day after we got DeSantos situated." After a surprisingly uneventful stint as a roommate, Joaquin had finally been moved to secure housing the previous evening; he'd been living with Clark for the last two weeks. Jughead was going to miss Clark's stories about rooming with Joaquin, but it was a relief for all concerned - at least, it had been.
"Where's your go bag?" Brand looked around the tiny apartment.
Jughead was surprised when Clark pointed without hesitation to the tiny closet off of his dining area.
"You have one too? I thought only-," Jughead cut himself off. Brand had assembled a joint one for the two of them when they'd been living together, and somehow he'd gotten the impression that it was something that criminals did. Obviously his impression had been incorrect.
"You thought that only crazy conspiracy nuts have go bags?" Clark smirked. "Isn't that what you always call me, anyway? I'm not sure why you're surprised."
"Well, Brand always left the most important stuff out." Jughead gave Clark a knowing look and began pulling chargers from where he could see them in the studio apartment's outlets. "Get your laptop and phone, and any photo albums."
"Kid, knock it off." Brand shook his head at Jughead. He was pulling Clark's backpack out of the closet.
Clark's eyes were getting bigger. "Photo albums?"
"He survived a house fire last fall. Ignore him." Brand accepted the chargers Jughead had gathered, though, and put them in the backpack. "Do get your phone and laptop, and anything else you think you'll need for the next few days."
"How many days?" Clark asked Brand. He looked to Jughead then. "You survived a house fire? You were in an actual burning building?"
"No; I got out just before it burned. But the family photos didn't make it." Jughead gave him a meaningful look. "If I were you, I'd bring them, Clark."
"This is perfect timing," Brand mused to himself. "I should close on that one FP hates, huh, kid?"
"The one on our block, you mean?" Jughead grinned as he caught Brand's drift. "Totally."
"What are you talking about? What timing? Close on what?" Clark was becoming more agitated.
"I'm taking you into protective custody, Clark." Brand nodded firmly as he considered the plan. "And I'm buying a house. It passed inspection, but someone wasn't entirely sold on my buying into his particular block of Riverdale, so I've been holding off on finalizing stuff. The seller hasn't been thrilled about the back and forth, so you might even get a fruit basket out of this. You can help me get it cleaned up and furnished in exchange for room and board - and you'll have a whole lot more protection than you do living here."
"That's-," Clark's expression smoothed and he suddenly looked excited instead of fearful. "Really? You'd do that for me?"
"You bet. Just be warned; the house is kind of… it needs a little work. I'm serious about you earning your keep."
"Yes, sir." Clark looked around his studio apartment. "Let me grab some books, I guess."
"And this." Brand dropped a hand on a stand mixer that took up quite a bit of the counter space in the tiny kitchen.
"That came with the place. I'm not sure it's supposed to take, uh, field trips." Clark hesitated and then shrugged. "But I guess it's not going to do any good here."
"And we'll be cooking for one more." Brand hefted it off the counter. "Grab the attachments and let's go."
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Brand had known there was likely to be some pushback over the arrangement - particularly since it meant everyone being under one roof while he closed on the house he'd been eyeing -, so he sent Jones and the warrior queen to the kid's bedroom right away after they got back to the house with Clark.
"Agent Quinn, I'm sorry to cut the evening short-," Brand was making a valiant attempt to get rid of Sarah before starting that conversation with FP, but she was having none of it.
"You got a threatening note, Clark? Have you called the police? And what do you mean, Davies put you in protective custody? You do know that this-," Sarah gestured at the room at large, "-is not even close to what that phrase means, right?"
Clark nodded. "Agent Quinn, I know that this may seem unorthodox, but-,"
"Brandon," FP interrupted. "Go call Tom Keller. Sarah's right; we need to start a paper trail."
"Jones called him from the car. He'll be right over." Brand shot FP a look. "I'm not an idiot. I just didn't want to leave Clark there alone."
Sarah motioned toward Brand and FP. "Unorthodox is the right word for it, Clark. But if the police are coming and everyone's okay with this arrangement, then I guess it's fine. Special Agent Davies is protective of the people he cares about; you're lucky to be a part of his inner circle."
"Whoa! Stop the presses. Are you saying that we have your blessing on this?" Brand shook his head as if he were amazed. "Sarah Quinn, that just sets my mind at ease."
"Shut up, Brandon." Sarah smiled at him even as she cocked her head in mock irritation.
Clark looked over at FP. "Uh, Mr. Jones, sir. Is this really okay with you? I know I'd be imposing on you until Special Agent Davies finishes buying his new home."
"It's no imposition at all. I don't turn people out, Clark. If you did go home, I'd only worry about you," FP spoke sincerely. "You can bunk in with Brandon for now. I've got a cot you can use."
Brand turned to face FP then. "What?"
"I don't think we need anyone sleeping out here." FP waved a hand at the living room. "You brought him home; you get to room together. I'm certainly not putting him in with Jughead if he's receiving threats."
Clark frowned at the implication that he was still in such imminent danger that he needed to be separated from Jughead.
"Hey." FP walked over to Clark. "You're going to be fine. You work for the FBI, and Brandon's day job is literally to take care of this kind of thing. The bases are covered. Welcome to the family, Clark."
"Is that kind of like… a mob family?" Clark eyed FP nervously.
"I don't even want to know what they say about me at the RA, do I?" FP shot Brandon and Sarah a sidelong glance. "No. Not in any way like a mob family, Clark. But you'll be safe here. Want some dinner?"
Clark smiled weakly and shook his head. "I'm crashing your evening. I can just go set up the cot and read until the sheriff gets here."
"Want a crust of bread to go with that?" Brand smiled teasingly. "Come on. Don't insult your host; have one of FP's magic burgers. Jones made some dessert, too, and our master plan to play five-player board games can be changed for one night."
"Okay. Thanks." Clark seemed to perk up.
"So. Who wants to go break up the make-out session in Jones' room?" Brand asked with a smirk.
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"Hey." Jughead sat down on his bed and gestured for Betty to join him. He grinned when she gave him a flirtatious look.
"Hi, stranger." Betty sat down next to him and leaned into his shoulder. "Do you think Clark will be okay? Why do you think they needed to kick us out to discuss him?"
"Clark's fine now that he's here. Someone's trying to scare him, and I hate that he's a target for anything like that, but Brand will make sure he isn't in any danger." Jughead considered the situation from Betty's perspective and tried to come up with reassurances. "Remember when I had a police escort for a couple of days, after the credible threat? It's kind of like that. There's a period where everyone's super careful, but after that the odds are really low that anything will actually happen."
"Honestly, I mostly just remember you in the back of the cruiser," Betty admitted.
"Uh, yeah. That makes sense." Jughead flushed with embarrassment. "Everyone else probably remembers that too."
"After today, I can't believe Archie held you down. You've gotten really strong, and you're crazy good at Krav," Betty added. "Thanks for trying to teach me. I do want to get better at defending myself."
"I'm sorry about that too." Jughead winced at the memory of his body going into its instinctive threat response. "I was actually hoping it would be kind of… something we could do together. Sparring and training or whatever. I thought it might be fun."
"Well... maybe if we tried it again we could go really slowly." Betty shrugged against Jughead's shoulder and he draped an arm around her. "Then maybe your instincts would have time to settle, and you could override any impulses to fight back too hard."
Jughead turned his head toward Betty, resting his chin on her shoulder as he did so. "You think? It's possible that could work, but would you be up for trying that, even after what happened earlier?"
"I'm game to try if you are."
"Okay." Jughead turned his body toward Betty, and she quickly straightened her shoulders as she faced him. "Uh, give me one of your hands. I'll show you some of the easier holds and escapes first, and you can just get used to how it feels. Maybe if we stand up that will work better, too."
When FP knocked on Jughead's door a few minutes later, only realizing that it wasn't quite closed when it opened in the same motion, all three of them were startled.
"Oh. Um. Sorry? We're, uh, going to play a game and make another attempt on dessert." FP eyed the teens where they were standing in a tight embrace, Jughead's arms wrapped around Betty from behind her; their hands tangled awkwardly as they moved apart. "Jug, is that such a good idea? Are you... being safe?"
Both teens turned bright red.
"Uh, never mind." FP realized what he'd said and how it had sounded. "Just… let's save the training for when you're being supervised, Jughead. At least for now, until you're sure that you won't hurt anyone by accident."
"Okay. Fine." Jughead moved to close his bedroom door. "We'll be right out."
He and Betty collapsed into giggles as soon as his father had left.
"We're going out tomorrow. Somewhere else. Anywhere else," Jughead declared. "A real date."
"And then to the dance," Betty agreed. "It's a plan."
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"Are you planning to go to that dance tomorrow?" Fred Andrews sat across the kitchen island from Archie, watching him pick at his spaghetti and meatballs. "I heard that it's an off-campus mixer for the Southside and Northside highschoolers, and I'm not sure how I feel about that, but we can at least discuss it if you're interested."
Archie did not look up when he answered. "Veronica's running it with Alice, Dad. So yeah, I'm going. I'm even playing for part of it."
This was the first Fred had heard of any of that. "You are? Really?"
"And you are so surprised," Archie said flatly.
"No - I just would have made plans to go hear you. Is there still time for me to get in on this?"
It had made perfect sense that both Fred and Archie would have a tense recovery after everything that had happened at Southside High. What neither had expected was for them to end up in this odd, vaguely combative mode.
Fred was working incredibly long hours trying to resolve the fallout at Andrews Construction and cooperate with the remaining portions of the investigation and prosecution of those involved in the bombing. He was also trying to work with Riverdale High to improve their policies and security, and he regularly encouraged Archie to make his voice heard in both processes.
Archie, on the other hand, wanted nothing to do with the logistical elements that were taking up seemingly every moment of his father's day, and yet he had discovered in himself a profound felt need to process the emotional fallout of everything he'd experienced and done that day - and the previous year.
"They're new songs. From my 'concept album.'" That had been the polarizing result of Archie's two weeks of ruminations: song after song, working through the events of the past year.
Fred thought it was a fine idea for Archie to use music to process his experiences privately, but he was very concerned about Archie playing songs in public in a manner that might in any way resemble what Alice's mother had done when she'd exploited both her daughter and Jughead by publishing a tell-all article that Alice had written.
"I have to run them by Brand first, anyway, to make sure that nothing's classified." Archie looked up at his father then, but his expression was dark. "So you might still get your wish and my songs will never see the light of day. But that's what I've been planning - and practicing. So."
At times like this, Fred wished Mary had not gone back to Chicago. She'd come back for a few days after the Southside High fiasco, but she really did need to see to her work responsibilities in person for a while. Fred got that. He just really missed having another perspective - and another voice at the table - at times like this.
"Look, Archie, I honestly don't know what I'm hoping for. But if Brandon and Jughead okay the songs, then I guess I can't really have any objections. And I'd still like to hear you play. What do you say?"
"I'll let you know once I hear what they say. I'm going over tomorrow afternoon."
"Okay." Fred left it at that.
At least Archie attacked his meatballs with renewed energy; signals like that were about as much as Fred could rely on for information right now.
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And we're off! I'm planning to just let this one rip, and see where it goes. That should be fun! :-D As always, I love (love, love) reviews and notes of all kinds, and I appreciate your reading along even if you can't leave notes along the way. :)
I hope you're having a lovely weekend!
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