Chapter Text
01.19.2017
His signed copy comes in the mail. F.P. praises Jughead unendingly on the phone that Thursday, so unbelievably proud to be his father.
Jug is sheepish, despite this having been a long and attentive process to get to this moment.
F.P. doesn't even think about how he hasn't seen his boy's face in 7 months. He's enraptured by his brilliance, by this life he has made without any help from F.P. If anything, he's been a hinderance.
He's only more proud when Jughead tells him he's signing a contract with the publishing company; two more books over the next six years. When F.P. asks him if he has any ideas, Jug tells him he's keeping them under wraps for now.
They talk about the cover art and the about-the-author section for a while, before Jughead says he needs to go. F.P. congratulates him again, and moves to hang up but stops when he hears Jug call out.
"Yeah kid?"
F.P. wonders what he's doing right now, where he is in that big city. "I just…thank you, Dad."
05.18.2017
On Tuesday, Jughead had graduated with honors, early in the humid Manhattan morning. F.P. missed another moment, but this time his pride is bigger than his self-pity. He doesn't ask about whether Gladys called; he knows Jug has reached out to his little sister, but the contact is sparse and its a sore spot for them both.
Instead, F.P. wants to know everything about the ceremony. Jughead gives the play by play, and reminds him that Alice taped the whole thing again. Another moment waiting for F.P. when he gets out.
"So, did you have a big celebration then, boy?"
"Um yeah, I mean not really. Betty she, well she had something planned for me at home, but it wasn't…it was just us and not…never mind. We did a thing with the Andrews and the Coopers that night though, yeah. Yes." He thinks he can hear his son blushing.
F.P. holds in the laugh rising in his diaphragm, amused that his married son is embarrassed at his accidental admission to having sex with his wife. "So Betty was proud then?"
"Oh yeah, very proud," Jughead laughs a little and sounds maybe a touch smug.
F.P. grins, "You got plans for the summer then?"
Jughead hums, "We've got work, and Betty's gearing up to start that new program in the fall. We wanted to come back for a bit, but I have my first round of deadlines. Its a lot right now, Dad."
"Of course, son," F.P. is suddenly feeling less talkative despite his pride. "You're a busy man now."
11.19.2017
He gets a call from Alice in the weeks after Jug's 23rd birthday. They've been few and far between, unlike Jughead's which have continued to be punctual. F.P. has stopped thinking too hard over all this, knowing that dwelling on the fact that he hasn't seen his son in nearly a year and a half won't do him much good.
She sounds energetic but sharp; she sounds like the girl he knew back on the Southside. "F.P., how is incarceration?"
"Much as it was the last time we spoke, Allie. Still sorely lacking in edible food and a decent place to jerk off."
Alice tries not to laugh, hiding it with a mock gasp. "You are a foul man, F.P. Jones."
"Wouldn't be here if I wasn't." She can hear the smirk through the receiver, paradoxical to the way his voice goes soft. "You've been gone, Allie."
She's quiet, serious all of a sudden, gathering her thoughts. "I've been…a lot has happened."
He waits for her to continue; he doesn't even consider it has to do with Jughead.
"Betty came home for a few days," Alice spoke lowly.
He straightens up against the brick, "Something happen between them?"
"Yes. She's..."
There's a beat.
Before he can press her to continue, she's saying "F.P., its not…I know I've shared a lot about their life, but this isn't mine to say. I don't…I don't even think Jughead knows yet."
"So what the fuck are you saying this all for then?" He's mad suddenly, at how stuck his is in this moment. He hates that she gets to be there for something he can't even know about.
"I'm just sorry, F.P.," she sounds so sincere, so sweet in his ear, "that you'll miss this."
The calls from Jughead stay regular in the coming weeks. Not one word on what F.P. can't know yet; he wonders if he's just always going to be missing the things that matters.
12.24.2017
Its Christmas Eve. Jughead is here, for the first time in over 18 months. There's something to him F.P. can't place, but he assumes its just the feeling of seeing someone so familiar after so long.
F.P.'s entranced by him. The physical tightness that had been sitting in his chest for the better part of a year loosens as soon as he sees his son's face. He's a man now. He's making an actual effort to commit every detail to memory, from his five o'clock shadow to his full sleeve, just incase he stays gone for a long time again.
They talk about Jughead's next book, about Archie taking over Andrew's Construction, about how their cat is trying to ruin all of Alice's fancy rugs.
"Yeah and, um, Betty's gonna take some time off from her Master's after next semester," Jughead mentions psuedo-casually, but F.P. knits his brow. Betty Cooper (Jones) doesn't really take breaks.
"Everything okay?"
Jughead freezes, then draws a deep breath. His smile is nervous but genuine. For the first time in a long time, his hand reaches up to tug at a beanie that isn't there.
"Jug?"
"Dad," another deep breath, but his eyes are shining. "Betty and I, we're having a baby."
F.P. leans back in his chair wordlessly. So this was what Alice had known. Before he can open his mouth to say something, Jug is pulling out his wallet and smoothes the creases out of a shiny black photo. His heart is racing as his son lifts the sonogram to the window; it practically stops when Jughead breathlessly, elatedly says, "That's my son, Dad."