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Chapter Text

09.28.2010

F.P. drums his fingers against the cheap tabletop, every thump-thump punctuated with the slight shake of the wobbly table. He's waiting, and its going to drive him crazy.

Its been over two months since he broke his parole, and his loose set of morals, and disposed of the teenaged body of Jason Blossom. He'd been calm through the clean up, the drop, and the subsequent investigation, as the sleepy town of Riverdale crept closer and closer to exposing the truth. But in this moment, waiting for his son, he was going to lose it.

He's made a lot of mistakes, he knows this. A lot of those mistakes involve his shortcomings as a father. But everything he's done, has tried to do, has been for his kids. For Jughead really, since his wife ran off with their daughter, and left him with their son and the harsh words he's too much like you and you know it, F.P.

Jug is not anything like him. Well, he has his brooding looks, but his quiet observation and his sardonic, loner ways are peculiarly Jughead. Despite everything F.P. puts him through, he's still fighting to avoid slipping into the crime and drink and despair that comes with being a quintessential Jones man. Jug is good. He is going to be so good.

Which is why F.P. did what he did. Why he's got to make this next move.

F.P. glances at the old clock on the wall, sees there's about 5 minutes between this quiet moment and Jughead's arrival to the trailer. About 5 minutes before he breaks his son's heart just a little bit more.

The police have been working overtime to solve the grizzly murder of the Blossom boy. Even Jughead and his Scooby Gang at school are trying to break the case. F.P. wants to laugh at the idea that at 15 years old, he had been sweet-talking his way up too many skirts and getting an early start on his rap sheet. At 15, his son is trying to solve a crime that runs so much deeper than he can realize.

F.P.'s inside guys at the Sheriff's station is the one who tipped him off. That they'd found a witness who put a Serpent leaving Sweetwater River a few days after it had been dragged; another who provided video footage of that same Serpent slipping into an expensive car behind the Greendale Water Plant later that same night, for only a few minutes, to meet with Clifford Blossom. They knew that that Serpent was strangely absent from the Whyte Wyrm that day except for when he threw a very large bag into the bed of his truck in the early morning, thanks to a statement from an undercover Jingle Jangle stakeout team. The same bag was found tangled around the decomposed body of Jason Blossom.

The same Serpent who was awaiting his son. They'd IDed him from the unique patch on his leather jacket. King Cobra.

F.P. knew it was just a matter of time before Sheriff Keller would show up with the warrant for his arrest. The evidence against him wasn't the gun or DNA, but it was too strong to ignore. And he was too easy to pin for something like this. He knew he had to come clean, but not to Keller. He needed to tell Jughead why this happened, and what was about to unfold. He owed him that. He'd fight the charges, but he wouldn't snitch on the real killer because he knew what he was capable of.

He knew that Clifford Blossom didn't flinch when it came to sons.

F.P. is about to lose everything. But he's gonna keep his son alive, give him the chance to break the chain that is the misfortune of being Forsythe Pendleton Jones.

He swallows hard and wishes for a drink. The door opens, the porch light cutting into the dark trailer.

"Hey, dad," his lanky boy slips in, pulling off his iconic beanie. "I grabbed Pop's."

F.P. smiles, and for the first time in what feels like his whole life, thinks he might cry.

"C'mere Jug, I wanna talk to you."

Chapter Text

02.04.2011

F.P. keeps his head down nearly the entirety of the sentencing hearing. He knows what he'll see if he looks up, looks over his shoulder.

He beat the charges, sort of. The actual murder charge, despite his false confession, was dropped. Turns out his son was even more capable than F.P. already knew. Jughead and his friends (that Cooper girl he's been mentioning lately actually found the video evidence, but F.P. tries not to read into that) had managed to prove that Clifford Blossom killed his son, and extorted F.P. into covering it up and taking the fall for it.

However, he was a felon before this. He committed a couple more felonies in cooperating. The justice system can't let a man like F.P. Jones walk after all this. So, he's not getting life in prison, but he'll lose so much time.

He'd pled guilty, hadn't gone to trial. He'd been around the block enough times to know his best chances were with a plea deal.

The court rose and fell with the entrance of the Judge, who immediately slipped into her monologue of judicial integrity. F.P. glanced up at the sound of his full name, stood up when she demanded.

He didn't breath when she said 10-15. From somewhere behind him, he heard a tight fuck that he knew was Jughead.

When they get ready to move him, he turns to his meager audience for the first time. Jughead has already moved up closer to the gate, his brow tight and F.P. briefly wishes to know all the beautiful, brilliant, indignated thoughts swirling in his son's head. F.P. shakes his head at him, he can't hear it in this last moment. Nothing anyone says will change this.

F.P. risks a glance around the rest of the court. He's unsurprised to see Fred and Archie Andrews solemnly sitting in the middle of the benches, the raven haired Veronica Lodge beside Archie. Betty Cooper is just behind his son, dressed up and so sweet. His throat feels tight when he sees the way her fingers curl around the crook of Jughead's elbow, her large eyes fixed on the boy's face.

He makes eye contact with the woman who's leaning against the back wall, knows her tongue is too sharp for its own good. Alice Cooper closes her eyes for a long press, before turning quickly out the courtroom door.

"Dad," Jug's voice brings him back but then he's gone again. The bailiff turns him away and out the side door. He's eternally grateful he didn't have to hear the sentence his son was constructing. He knows it would've broken both of them in that moment.

06.19.2011

"Happy Father's Day, dad," Jughead says, somewhat sheepishly into the plastic phone. His fingers dance along the metal cord, eyes downcast. "I'm sorry this is the first time I've visited. Or that- that I haven't called."

F.P. doesn't even acknowledge the apology, too excited his son is here at all, let alone on this day. He thought, he knew, that after everything, he may never have seen him again.

"Don't Jug it's- you're here now. So tell me, how's school? Fred treating you alright?" F.P. just wants to know that he's fine, that it will have been worth something for a moment of his son's happiness.

"Uh, school just ended. Last week actually, and I didn't flunk out, so I guess it went fine. Archie's got football camp, so I've been working some for Fred to keep busy and help out."

F.P. smiles but its sad. "Course you didn't flunk out, not with that big brain of yours. Good, that's good, you working for Fred. Keep you busy, out of trouble." He points slyly with the hand holding the phone, knowing his kid is too good to really have to worry.

So F.P.'s interest is piqued when Jughead shifts in the uncomfortable chair, his cheeks coloring so slightly and his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. He narrows his eyes curiously at the boy.

"You are staying out of trouble aren't you, boy? No drugs, no Serpent shit?"

Jug scoffs, "No, of course not, I'm not particularly eager to join you in here Dad."

F.P. ignores the good natured jab and leans in with a grin. After a beat he says, "Jug, do you got yourself a girl?"

The blush hadn't even disappeared before it returns three fold, and for the first time Jughead opens his mouth and no eloquence comes out. F.P. throws his head back in a real laugh, the first in months as his son embarrassingly stumbles to deny his love-struck state.

"Dad, its not- I'm," he squirms, "Its not really, she's not mine per say, she's…"

He cuts his son off, "Jug, she might not be yours, but that dopey ass look on your face tells me your all hers. You don't have to say anymore, boy, just…don't be a dumbass, alright? I know I'm not in a place to give you too much fatherly advice, but man to man, Jughead, I hope you're being safe."

"Jeez Dad, its not like that," Jughead scoffs again, and F.P. is overly amused that his teenage son is sitting in front of him trying to act like he has no interest in sex. "We're just friends-"

"Whatever you are, wear a condom."

F.P. thinks his smile might split his face when his son dramatically groans, his head dropping into his hands.

12.25.2011

F.P. hadn't really thought of what Christmas in prison would be like. It wasn't a major holiday in the Jones' household, especially the last few years. Basically, any celebratory tradition was done for the benefit of Jellybean and preserving her innocence.

He figured he'd get a phone call from Jughead, which would be a welcome event as it would be in addition to their weekly Thursday night call. Jug had been pretty consistent about keeping his dad in the loop, and F.P. swears its the stories of his son's life that keep him looking ahead. He makes a monthly visit, between school and work and the paper and his girl. F.P. likes those visits, because Jughead is flourishing and he can see it, how good this is for him. It hurts that it came in these circumstances, but its good.

So what he doesn't expect is C.O. Lewinsky calling his name and leading him into the corridor that passes the visitation windows. F.P. vaguely feels a pang of sadness at all the men talking into the phones, varieties of families on the other side of the glass. May as well be the other side of the world on a day like this.

They stop in front of a room with a small window, and F.P. is suddenly nervous; the only time he's been in here was for a meeting with his attorney, Mary Andrews, to discuss the timeline for appeal. They move through the door and Lewinsky is removing his cuffs, but nods for him to sit at the metal table.

"I gotta stay the whole time, Jones."

F.P. looks back at him, not realizing the second door is swinging open, "Whole time for what?"

The C.O. just nods again, towards the door.

"Hey, Dad," his son is there, in the room with a platter, Mary and Fred Andrews over his shoulder. "Merry Christmas."

He's up so fast, and wrapping his son in his arms, the tray forgotten on the table. He hears the chuckle of the Andrews, and the shuffle of Lewinsky as he mutters easy there Jones, but its all lost as he pulls back to see Jughead's eyes shining at him. He can't even be embarrassed by the chains at his feet, or the numbers across the back of his prison uniform, he's just floored that he's gripping his son.

Mary pipes up at that moment, "We had to pull some strings, and it means skipping next month's visit, but we thought it'd be worth it. We wanted Jug to have something good this Christmas…and well, he wanted to see you."

F.P. nods, scared if he opens his mouth he'll cry. He looks between the Andrews, two old friends who've taken his son in, and hopes that they can see the unwavering gratitude he has for them.

Fred smiles. He thinks he knows. "Its only an hour, but we'll step outside and let you two celebrate."

They slip out as he and Jughead move to sit. Jug glances briefly over at Lewinsky and shifts, but returns to meet F.P.'s eyes with a smile. He pulls the large platter in between the two and removes the lid to reveal an array of themed cookies, some beautifully decorated and others a little misshapen.

"Uh, we made some cookies, since we can't exactly share a meal, and I figured something homemade would be good…I made those ones, with the weird squiggles. Turns out I'm not so great at dessert decorating," Jug laughs at himself as F.P. takes one of the awkward snowman cookies.

"Didn't have the Andrews pegged as bakers," F.P. mumbled around the treat. Damn. He missed good food.

Jughead looks up from his cookie- he'd gone with a pretty, symmetrical christmas tree- and gives a light grin that F.P. doesn't think he's ever seen before.

"Oh no, Betty and I, we did this. Her brilliant idea, my poor execution. Alice says Merry Christmas, by the way."

"Oh, does she?" F.P. wonders for the millionth time if Betty Cooper is the girl. Jug never really gives him the details, and F.P. never presses. There's a lot of we in his son's weekly phone calls lately, but never a name to put a face with the girl who's got his son so head over heels. There's always been a suspicion that the perfect girl next door is the one who has Jughead so happy; F.P. finds the thought both uplifting and nerve-wracking.

His sweet grin turns wicked as he laughs with his father, "Well, it was said in a somewhat condescending tone but it was said. At least her animosity for the Jones' was deferred from me, even if but for just a moment. "

F.P. smiles. There's a lot of reasons Alice Cooper would be less than thrilled with the Jones', but he thinks in this case, it may have a lot more to do with her daughter's virtue than the sins of Jughead's father.

The hour comes and goes, and F.P.'s heart drops when the Andrews' return and Lewinsky gestures him up. F.P. hugs both Mary and Fred in turn first, and can't even stop the tears this time when he whispers his thanks to them. He'll never be able to repay them. But he has to try to convey how much this means anyways.

He hugs Jughead, pressing his head down to kiss the top of his hair roughly (which proves hard as he only seems to keep growing lately.) He feels the curl of his son's fingers into the material at his shoulder's and tells him he loves him. Jug chokes a little, saying it back.

He gathers the plastic container as Lewinsky preps F.P. to go back to his cell. "Hey Jug?"

"Yeah, Dad?"

His lip quirks. "You tell Betty I said thanks, okay?"

Jughead ducks his head, and nods, a grin spreading across his face. "I will, Dad. I will."

Chapter Text

05.18.2012

There's not going to be a visit this weekend. That's what Jug tells him on the phone Thursday, as he apologizes repeatedly. F.P. hides the disappointment well, reassuring his boy that he figured at some point things might come up and keep him from making the trek to Shankshaw.

It'd been so regular, ever since Jughead had gotten his license and inherited the Harley bike that was formerly F.P.'s, making the monthly visits now every two weeks. He's busy with the end of the school year, and has taken a second job at Pop's to make extra cash, but hasn't told F.P. why. The last few phone calls, and his most recent visit, were shorter than they had been, but Jughead doensn't offer an explanation.

A little uncertainly, F.P. asks into the phone, "Jug, is something…just, nothing's going on right, boy? You've been a little preoccupied. I know I can't do much for you in here, but if you need to talk, I'm all ears."

The line is silent for several moments. After another beat, F.P. leans into the receiver, "Son, you there?"

"I'm going to the junior prom. Tomorrow." Jug spits out so quick, F.P. jumps a little. "With Betty, and I've been picking up some shifts to pay, because the whole thing is ridiculously expensive for a bunch of minors to have to afford, but she's so excited and I'm just…I'm just, Dad, I don't know what I'm doing."

"Well, you never were a very good dancer, Jug."

"Dad." He can hear the light laugh in his voice, but its overpowered by a self-conscious uncertainty. "I'm serious."

F.P. leans against the wall, glancing around. How the fuck did he end up here? Not in prison, he's clear on that, but this place where he has to talk his son, the self-proclaimed pariah, off a proverbial ledge in nervous anticipation of his high school prom date with one Betty Cooper.

"Jug, calm down. Its a dance. The same people you've always known, just, you know, a little fancier. And the same girl you've been with, there's nothing to sweat. Just pick up some flowers and make sure you remember to clean the trailer, and you're all set. And you know, probably leave the hog at home, don't wanna ruin her pretty dress."

Towns over, Jughead blinks a few times at the normality of his father's advice, before quickly dismissing it. "No, its not the prom itself, its Betty. Its…Dad, I love her. I'm so in love with her, and I just…I don't want her to be disappointed when she realizes its just me."

F.P.'s heart drops at his son's words. He loves her. He'd sort of figured, after all this time, that that was the nature of the relationship, but to hear his kid say he'd fallen in love? Well, F.P. hadn't really anticipated the elation and the fear that moved simultaneously through him, at the thought of his son being so vulnerable with another person. He grips the receiver tighter.

"Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Third, you listen to me. That girl has been there by your side, good and bad, practically since you could wipe your own ass. Prom or no prom, as long as you're there for her, and you show up for her, and you bust your ass like you've been these last few weeks to make her happy, you can't disappoint her. She's got a good heart. And, fuck son, so do you. I know you Jug, and I know your mom and me…we did a number on you. But you deserve this too; all the things you wanna give that girl? You deserve too."

The line is quiet again, and he hears Jughead pull a deep breath in. The little automated voice in the prison phone system warns them they have two minutes left.

Jug clears his throat, "Thanks, Dad."

"Of course," F.P. knows they don't have to say more. "You better be a gentleman, Jug."

He barks out a laugh, "Hard to forget that, under the watchful eye of Alice Cooper." After a beat, "Hey, what did you mean about cleaning the trailer?"

Its F.P.'s turn to laugh, knowing the following statement will both embarrass Jughead and negate his previous advice. "I was young once, kid. You're gonna want to bring her somewhere after the dance, somewhere where's theres not any watchful eyes. Just make sure you change the sheets."

Two weeks later, he gets a photo in the mail, a candid moment of his son tucking a blonde curl behind the ear of Betty Cooper. He's in a tux with his fingers resting on the soft lavender silk of her gown as she grins up at him. They're standing on the porch of the Cooper house, final preparations before heading off to the dance. F.P. is a little breathless at how clearly their love shows in a photograph.

On the back of the picture is a short message:

They're so much better than we were, F.P. They have such a good chance to be the kind of happy we always wanted. Thank you for your son. -Allie

10.06.2012

"Well, now that you're legal, you know the girls down at the Wyrm would be happy to give you a good show, birthday boy."

"Oh, god, Dad," Jughead visibly cringes through the glass. "I'll stick to a celebratory lottery ticket."

F.P. laughs. "Damn. 18 years old, my son. And you're still wearing that fucking hat."

"Hey, you gave it to me, if you recall," he returns, nervously readjusting said beanie, "are you done giving me shit?"

"Nope," he pops the p, "I'm your dad, Jug, and I'm in prison. Giving you shit is all I've got these days."

The younger Jones man rolls his eyes, and seems to get a little serious. F.P. waits him out, knowing he's got something on his mind.

Jughead takes a deep breath before meeting his eyes. "You know how Betty was really pushing me to get my grades up, and um, to take the SATs with her? I did, and well, I did good. And I've spent so much time on the Blue & Gold, and the photography I started. I've been…I've been writing my novel, you know, and I thought I'd do that all here, that I wouldn't need anything more. But Betty, she's going to go to New York, Dad, she has these plans."

F.P. has no idea why Jughead just word vomited and is trying to connect the dots quickly, hoping it doesn't equal something bad.

"I talked with Ms. Fisher in the school office, and I even got the recommendation letters together. I have it all ready to submit, early even, thanks to Betts. I just…I feel like I should tell you now, before…well, just before. Not that I've decided anything, obviously."

F.P.'s still unclear. He leans forwards, "Jug, buddy, what are you talking about?"

He fiddles with the phone line as he says, "College, Dad. I'm applying to college. In the city."

Oh.

The thought hadn't occurred to him. He knows Jughead is in his senior year, and that he's brilliant. He's heard snippets of Jug bragging about his valedictorian-to-be girlfriend. But the Jones' don't really do college; hell, they barely do high school. So as much as college had been a dream he had for his son, there's been a part of him that couldn't help but doubt he'd make it that far, that he'd fall victim to the path of his father. F.P. is acutely aware of the fact that the only reason Jug's even got the option is because he's been out of his hands for so long.

He hasn't said anything yet, and Jug nervously jumps into explaining himself, "Nothing's certain, I have to get in. And then, the financial aid and the moving. I've been saving, and Alice has been helping me figure out some scholarship stuff, but it doesn't mean anything yet."

"Jughead-"

"-I'd still have to go. And I don't wan't you to think I'm only following Betty. I mean, I kind of am, I'd go anywhere with her, but its…there's a lot of opportunity out there and I think, well I think it might be good. To get out of Riverdale."

"Jughead, I get it. You don't have to explain it to me, I know you can do so much. I know you will. I'm so proud of you."

His heart drops a little when his son says, "You are?"

F.P. scoffs into the plastic phone, "God, of course, Jug. All the shit stacked against you, everything you could've done different but didn't. Kid, you could've just been me. But you're gonna be so great."

Jug is quiet for a moment. "I'd be far away."

"There's still phones, Jug. And snail mail." This gets a smile out of the newly minted adult. "Look, just keep me in the loop, okay? Do what you need to do, be the man you want, follow that girl as far as she'll let you. I just want you to be happy, Jug, after everything. Wherever that is."

Chapter Text

02.14.2013

The call is unexpected.

Jughead had told him the weekend prior that with Valentine's day and the dance his girlfriend had planned as class president falling on a Thursday, he'd have to skip their weekly call. F.P. gives him some shit for it, mostly amusing himself with the fact that after almost two years of being with Betty, Jug still gets bashful about their relationship.

F.P. can't help but wonder if anybody has ever loved the way those two do. Despite not having seen Betty Cooper since his sentencing hearing, he's so grateful for her. He knows she's a big part of what's kept Jug's head above water, and what's motivating him to be so much more than another Southside piece of trash.

So when he gets a call, he's a little worried something happened to ruin their Valentine's day plans. That worry intensifies when its not even his son on the line.

"Alice, what the hell? Is Jug okay?"

He can practically hear the roll of her eyes as she says, "Of course he is F.P., he and Betty just left for the dance. They looked great, by the way."

He's soothed by the words, despite her sharp tone. Immediately, he can't help but take the opportunity to get her to show some more of her fangs. He hopes she can hear the shit-eating grin he's wearing as he speaks into the phone, "So then, you're just calling me on Valentine's Day for your own pleasure, Allie?"

In the Cooper household, Alice contemplates throwing her cell phone across the room. "F.P. Jones, every day I am thankful your son is nothing like you."

"Makes two of us."

She sighs, "I am calling about Jughead though. F.P., you cannot tell him I told you this!"

"Alice, what the hell is it?"

Another sigh. "He got in to all those schools. He even got scholarships. He's so close, F.P., its so possible. But he doesn't want to make a decision, even with Betty making hers, and I just…I want him to do well, and there's obviously something holding him back."

F.P. is quiet, processing this. He's a little swept up in how much Alice clearly cares about the well-being of his kid, even independently of how it contributes to Betty's happiness. "Jug got in to school?"

"Every single one."

"So what's stopping him?"

Alice sighs again. She never used to sigh like that. "Honestly, F.P., I think its you. He's had the acceptance letters for weeks and he hasn't told you yet. He knows you're supportive, but it means a big change. I know he'll tell you in his own time, but he only has until the end of March to decide. I just don't want him to miss this opportunity because of you. And I don't want Betty to change her mind because of him either."

The words should have felt harsh but they didn't. He knows what she means. She knows, probably more than anyone else, what it feels like to be stuck. And she's the one, that between the two of them, got out at any costs. Now their kids have the chance to go even farther, and she doesn't want them to waste these opportunities.

She calls back two Thursdays later, but is quiet for a few moments when he accepts the call.

"He picked NYU," she pauses. "He said he'd tell you before he goes. I just thought you'd be proud."

"Thank you, Allie," F.P. tries not to think too hard about what his son hasn't told him. "For everything."

05.25.2013

The visit is unfortunately short and bittersweet. Jughead rushes through the explanation of the graduation ceremony, mentions that Alice ordered an extra DVD copy for when he gets out.

F.P. never thought he'd be faking a smile the day his son graduated high school. He thought he'd be cheering too loud in the local theater as Jug shook the hand of another person who'd doubted him. He thought there'd be pictures, with their family and the Andrews and that sweet girl of Jug's. He hates the way he'll never know how it felt to hug his son in his graduation gown, never got to hear the collective gasp as his son's classmates heard his ridiculously long name for the first time.

He's so proud. But Jughead still hasn't mentioned his impending venture to NYU, and F.P. is too afraid to hear him say he's leaving to ask anything about college. He doesn't know how this became another thing they don't talk about, but he wishes for the millionth time that things were different.

"Betty and I, and Archie and Veronica, we decided to drive to the coast next week. Like a last adventure. The Lodge's have a house up there and there's a private beach and…" Jughead is quickly filling his dad in on his plans, and he sounds so real in this moment F.P. hates to break it. He lets him find a place to stop his story before interrupting.

"Son, you heard from your mom at all?"

"No," Jughead visibly swallows. "I don't think she knows that…I haven't talked to her in over a year, Dad. She doesn't know." Or care.

A year. A year. That means she didn't call for Christmas, or his 18th birthday, or his freaking high school graduation.

"Fuck, Jug. I'm so sorry."

"Dad, you don't have to apologize for her. She made her choices."

How is his son so reasonable? F.P. shakes his head, "Trust me, kid, I know, but I just wish she, that we had made different ones. We should've given you more. One of us should've been there today."

Jughead nods slowly, and for the first time since F.P. sat him down to tell him he was turning himself in, his son sounds disappointed. "Yeah, you should've."

They wrap up on a somber note, and Jughead doesn't breath a word about New York. F.P. wonders if he's doing this on purpose, leaving him so quietly, but his kid has never been vindictive. He wonders if knowing his son was grown would still hurt the same if he wasn't in prison.

08.15.2013

The summer has been brutal. F.P. sweats himself half to death in the prison yard, mulling over his situation. He's about a quarter of the way through his stint, in the best case scenario, and for the first time he's fucking angry about it.

He'd taken to prison pretty resignedly, with the biggest qualm being what this all meant for Jughead. Its not bad; the food is steady, he's sober, he's taking some college classes. He could stand to get laid, or even just a private shower, but its tolerable. Or it had been, until he'd learned 6 months ago his only son was planning to leave for New York City and hasn't told him.

He's not mad at Jug. He's just frustrated. His kid is doing what he always hoped he would, getting out and being better. But he's deliberately not telling F.P., and for that he has no words.

But he puts that aside with ever visit and phone call, relishing in the happiness so evident in his son. He takes ever story about working two jobs, and how him and Betty are tinkering with his old pick-up, and everything else about the summer. He takes whatever his son is willing to share, keeping the one secret he's not, close to his heart.

So on that Thursday in August, F.P. gets the wind knocked out of him when he receives a collect call from a new number. When the little automated voice reads off a number he knows is a NYC area code, its followed by the familiar recitation of his son's voice grumbling out Jughead Jones. F.P. is a quick thinker but he's never been so taken aback by a realization. Jughead is calling from New York. He'd seen him not even a week ago, and he'd said nothing.

F.P. accepts the call. The call is short but upbeat. Jughead never mentions where he is or why.

The next Thursday, F.P. declines the call.

11.29.2013

Jughead laughs good naturally at F.P.'s vehement description of prison Thanksgiving food. F.P. is happy to see him smile, to see him at all.

The last several months, F.P. and Jughead had been in a stalemate. Jug had still never said to his dad that he'd left for college. The calls, which F.P. started picking up again in September after an earful from Alice Cooper, are always pleasant but his son doesn't give much detail about his new life. He never says college or New York. F.P. figures if this is how Jughead has to handle this, then okay. He tries to push the hurt of being kept out of the loop somewhere low in his chest.

The most obvious symptom of change is that Jughead only comes once a month now. He doesn't say why and F.P. doesn't ask because, well, he already knows. But now, the weekend after Thanksgiving, he's here for a second time that month and F.P. got an extra phone call on the holiday itself. He'll take those wins.

So when he royally fucks up their unspoken don't-ask-don't-tell agreement, by asking, "How's NYU?" without a second thought, he wants to melt into the floor. Jughead is staring at him with an unreadable expression for too long.

"Its good, Dad."

He doesn't say anymore.

Chapter Text

04.19.2014

F.P. waits patiently for Jughead to gather his thoughts. He's here unexpectedly, his second visit of the month, and he clearly has something to say. F.P. watches his hand go up to tug at a silver chain tucked into his shirt. Its new, and he wonders why his son is wearing a necklace but the thought is fleeting. His hair is longer, unruly without his beanie for the first time in years. There is just a peek of dark ink on his left arm, but he rolls the sleeve down before F.P. can see the tattoo clearly.

Jug presses a hand to his chest briefly, before looking at his father. "Don't be mad."

F.P. narrows his eyes, "Jughead…"

"I'm moving in with Betty," Jughead pauses then goes again. "Actually that's a lie. She already moved in. With me. In, uh, in New York City."

F.P. only looks at his son. Why are you telling me this now? He dreads the answer before he gets the question all the way out, "Jughead, did you get that girl pregnant?"

He thinks its almost comical the way Jughead's eyes bug, "No, no. We just…we just want to be together, Dad. But we did get- you know, never mind. I just, I wanted to tell you I'm not coming back home this summer. Or for awhile, I guess."

Now he understands. He briefly wonders what Jug decided not to tell him, but lets him keep that secret. For some reason, his son thinks there's things about his life best kept from F.P.

So he smiles, despite knowing that this means he's losing another little piece of his son, "Whatever makes you happy, Jug."

08.07.2014

There's a call late in to the summer. F.P. doesn't think much of it at first, Alice periodically fills him in on what Jughead won't nowadays. But he doesn't expect the venom in her voice when she speaks this time.

"Do you know what they did, F.P.?"

He's concerned, "Who, Betty and Jug? Do you mean the moving in together? He mentioned it, but that was months-"

"No, you fucking snake," she's seething at this point. "They got married. In New York. They came home and casually mentioned it, like it was just no big deal! In April, F.P.! Four months ago and not a word out of either of them, let alone an invitation. A city hall wedding. My daughter had a city hall wedding, and didn't even have the decency to tell me or her father about it for four months. For God's sake, its not like she's pregnant. They just wanted to! Honestly, what were they even thinking? They don't know how to make a marriage work, they're children; I just did their taxes for them! Hal suggested they get an annulment, and you should've seen how upset those two got. They left, and went right back to New York. Betty hasn't picked up any of my calls in days! You know how much I love them, and I understand they might not be thrilled with Hal and I's disapproval, but they're nineteen. They can't possibly understand the seriousness of all this, and…F.P., are you still there?"

"Uh yeah, I'm still here."

They're quiet on the phone as she seems to realize the weight of all this. She feels a fraction of the hurt he feels, having been kept out of the loop. Jughead is being intentionally selective in the parts of his life he shares with his father and it is painful.

Alice sighs, "They looked so happy, F.P."

He swallows, hard, and nods before remembering she can't see him.

"That's all we ever wanted, Allie."

10.06.2014

F.P. feels like he's drinking in his long lost son. Really it's only been a few months since he'd seen him, and he'd always gotten the weekly phone calls. But he's rarely gone this long without seeing him, and knowing that there was so much he was missing, so much being kept from him? Well, it was taking a toll on F.P.

He knew he needed a shave and that the bags under his eyes were bad. Despite only ever wanting to sleep, he can't. Food has gone from being uninteresting, which isn't surprising as its being served in prison, to down right unbearable. F.P. hadn't really ever given much thought to depression and all that shit, but he thinks this may be close enough.

His heart soars each time he speaks to Jughead, but it drops like a rock when he hangs up. Alice still calls every few weeks to tell him things Jug doesn't. One day, she sadly confided that Betty was saying less and less too; she found out about an internship acceptance only because Betty hadn't changed her forwarding address since moving in with Jughead.

"God, Jug, I'm so glad to see you," he breaths out, the first smile on his face in weeks is too big to contain, "I've missed your ugly mug, kid."

His son laughs, loudly and clearly, in a way he never would have years ago. He's so much brighter now; smiles more, outwardly broods less. The beanie comes off when he settles in to a place, no longer a safety blanket tugged when nervous. He has the beginning of a tattoo sleeve on his left arm; there's yet to be an explanation of the serpent curling up his elbow. He's still lanky as hell, but clearly grown. He's 20 today. There's that chain tucked around his neck, the one he doesn't pull out. Alice has no explanation for it either, but mentioned Betty has a similar one.

Despite being a husband now, he never tells F.P. about his eloping with the girl next door. There's no ring, no stories about my wife. He talks about Betty, but he never alludes to the change in their relationship, even after 6 months.

"I'm sorry it's been so long, Dad, classes have been crazy. I started working in the library, the public one with the lions? Between that and the bartending gig, I've been pretty busy." Jughead rubs his chin, F.P. thinks there might be more he wants to share. His son always seems to make himself appear when there's something to be said, even if he leaves parts out.

"And uh, well another big thing, I guess. I finished my novel."

F.P. blinks, not expecting that. "Jug, that's great, I know how hard you've been working on it."

He nods along, "Yeah, and…it got picked up by a publisher. I got a publishing deal."

F.P. doesn't know what to say. He's not versed in the world of book writing at all, but he knows this is major. He just thinks, in the scheme of all the things Jughead doesn't share, this one seems less important. He can't help but wonder if Jug just keeps telling him a small part of his story, that there's something even bigger he still isn't saying.

And then:

"Dad, I haven't even told Betty yet. You were the first person I wanted to tell."

F.P. forgets any uncertainty with Jughead's reveal with that one sentence. His son had come to him first, to tell him something huge. He makes a quick mental note to brag to Alice about this during their next call.

"Well you know she's gonna be proud, boy." F.P. can't put all his feelings into words, so he keeps it casual. There's a sting in the back of his throat, the kind from swallowing one's emotions whole.

Jughead's smile is so loving, "Yeah, yeah she will. Its good, for us. There's an advance, so hopefully we can get out of that studio. She's been dropping hints about wanting actual walls between our bed and the front door."

F.P. is about to reply, but his son continues, "I just…Dad, this story is as much yours as it is mine. I just needed you to know that."

He nods, knowing he'll never be able to say things as simply, as beautifully as his son.

"Happy birthday, Jug."

Chapter Text

01.03.2015

They're talking about Jughead's New Years, how he and Betty spent it in Veronica's Greenwich apartment to avoid the tourist buzz. The visits have been regular since Jughead's birthday. It feels more open, and F.P. thinks to himself its because his boy is finally able to be the man he wanted. He's less guarded, less afraid of what others will think of his choices ever since he escaped Riverdale.

Which is why F.P. is dreading what he has to tell his son.

He's a month shy of four years in the clink. He's mostly avoided any major issues, and is just skating through his sentence under the radar. So when he'd gone in for his annual physical on the 30th of December, he'd been confident it would be routine. When the crotchety prison doctor had unsympathetically relayed the news, F.P.'s mouth had dried out, his only thoughts going to the boy that now sat in front of him.

"So, Dad, what about you? Everything's fine, you need money for your commissary?"

He waves him off, "Nah, kid I'm just fine."

His son lifts the corner of his lip, and F.P. flinches.

"Actually, there is something I gotta tell you, Jug."

01.31.2015

F.P. isn't really sure what to say. Of all the things he thought he'd face in prison, an angry Betty Cooper is not one of them.

She's clutching the phone to her ear, and looks determinedly through the glass. Its been four years since he'd seen her last, and honestly he hadn't really paid much mind to her before. She carries a lot more meaning now than she had back then, he thinks. Her blonde hair is long and loose, not the tight ponytail Alice used to insist upon. She's grown up too, and looks so much like her mother when she glares that he's a little taken aback. There's a thin chain around her neck, the end just barely concealed by her baby pink sweater.

He'd accepted the visit only because he thought something might of happened to Jug, if his wife was visiting him. Ever since their visit at the beginning of the year, they hadn't spoken. No phone calls, no visits; F.P. hadn't seen Jughead as angry as he had been that day since, well since ever.

"Mr. Jones, why are you doing this?"

F.P. sighs exasperatedly, "I'm not doing anything. I didn't exactly plan for this. It just…there isn't a right answer here. It's shitty, for everyone. And call me F.P., Betty, please."

"Well, you are," she shifts, a little pink from the embarrassment of being so formal. "You are doing something. You're hurting him by not letting him help you. And, look, honestly, I don't want him to do it either, but he's terrified to lose you, F.P."

He slams his hand on the metal counter, and Betty jumps. The guard behind him clears his throat pointedly, and F.P. lets out a breath to refocus. He hasn't lost his temper in a long time.

"Sorry, I'm sorry. But, I can't fucking lose him. He's too stubborn to see that though- he's my son, Betty, he's all I've got. All this- everything I did was for him to be safe. I will not risk him again."

"Don't you think I've tried to explain that too?" She's leaning forward, her voice heated, and he sees the same turmoil he's been feeling reflected in her eyes. "He wants to help you, even if it means risking himself. Your liver is failing because of the shit you did to yourself. And maybe you want to punish yourself some more, and waste away in prison. Fine, whatever. But Jughead wants you to live. He wants you to get out, and be his dad again. I don't want him to do it either, not because I don't want you to get better, but because I can't fucking lose him either, F.P. I won't make it with out him."

Her inhale is shaky, "But Juggie won't make it without you. So I need you to let him help you."

F.P. is shaking his head, angry. At this girl pleading with him to risk his son for himself, at his son for wanting to do so. At himself, for having gone down a rabbit hole of alcoholism all those years ago that led to this moment. He's serving 10-15 and now he's in the second stage of liver failure. He needs a donor organ, or he'll continue to decline. The lack of appetite and the sluggishness he'd thought was depression, wasn't. His body is betraying him. How fitting.

But Jug, he wants to help. Wants to give him half his fucking liver.

Betty sighs. So much like her mother. He wonders if she cried as softly as Alice did when he told her.

"Just talk to him, hear him out. I won't lose him because of you, Mr. Jones."

He looks up at the formality, and catches his breath. Her neckline has shifted, and at the end of the chain sits a small silver wedding band resting against her chest.

02.10.2015

There's a steady beeping in F.P.'s ear as he comes to slowly. Cold metal circles his wrists, an immediate reminder of his station as an inmate. There's a strange soreness in his side, not quite pain, but it gives the impression that it soon will be. He makes out the guards as his vision clears; there's someone in the chair to his left but they're curled away from him, blonde hair ruffled against the chair back. The doctor looks up from writing his chart and begins to speak to him.

"Mr. Jones, your surgery was a success. Now as we discussed before, you'll need to keep the incision…"

He drifts off as he speaks.

When he wakes again, he's not alone. He can hear the all too familiar sound of a Cooper woman dotting. He turns his head and wants to cry with relief at the sight of Jughead, hooked up to the same machines he is, looking a little rough but alive. Betty sits at his side, brushing his hair out of his face as he smiles up at her groggily.

Before F.P. can say anything to interrupt, there is a voice at the door, "Mrs. Jones? Dr. Wilkinson can answer your questions now."

He's a little confused, until Betty stands up and kisses Jughead on the forehead before following the nurse out. Mrs. Jones. He'll have to finally confront Jug about this whole marriage thing when he's not so out of it.

F.P. follows her with his eyes, and its behind her in the hallway that he sees the briefest glimpse of Alice engrossed in the phone in her hand, before Betty shuts the door behind her.

"Dad?"

He turns back to his son and he's overwhelmed. He feels the tears welling up in his eyes, but blinks them back. There's no words for what his son has given him, or for how much he doesn't deserve it. F.P. reaches between the bed, wrist jerking annoyingly when the handcuffs limit his extension. Jughead understands, and slides all the way to the edge of the bed with a grimace. He reaches his long arm out and their fingers meet.

F.P. falls asleep to the rhythmic beeping, gripping Jug's hand. He dreams of the inky patterns on his son's skin.

07.04.2015

Its a weird day for a visit. Technically, it was five years ago today Jason Blossom went missing. He wouldn't be killed for another week or so, but this was the beginning of the end.

F.P. tries not to think about it with his son sitting in front of him. The months since the transplant had been rough; there was medication and dietary changes and pain. But he's doing fine. And so is Jug, even with half a liver.

The visits are regular and the phone calls long. Sharing an organ seems to have done their relationship good. F.P. hasn't brought up Betty since she visited; hell, he never even told Jug she came. Something tells him Betty had though; based on how Jughead's talked about her, it doesn't seem like there's much unsaid between the two of them.

He tells F.P. about their new place though. A one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. They got a cat, a little orange tabby named Caramel. Jughead tells him how Betty is going to graduate a whole year early, in the spring, thanks to all her high school APs and summer classes. Jughead tells him that his own degree is going swimmingly; he's majoring in Creative Writing, so it figures. He keeps him updated on the publishing process, promises a print copy will be coming in the beginning of next year.

They never really bring up what Jughead did for F.P.

10.07.2015

"Hi, Mr. Jones."

F.P.'s brow jumps. He'd gotten an unscheduled call from Jughead, on the day he was supposed to visit. "Betty, I wasn't expecting you."

"Yeah well, I just thought I'd tell you Juggie won't be making his visit today. He's really sorry."

He hums at the nickname, "He okay?"

She laughs lightly into the phone, "If you asked him right now, he'd say he's dying but he's just dramatic. And hungover. He'll be fine after a nice long nap and some food. This is what happens when you let Archie take point on your 21st birthday."

F.P. is laughing suddenly. He'd wished Jug a happy early birthday on Thursday, anticipating this visit. He hadn't even thought about his son raging on his 21st birthday in the city with his best friend. He's so amused, he only barely hears through the phone a faint, groggy Jughead mumbling fucking-A Betts, you're so loud.

"Well, at least we know his liver still works."

Betty laughs with him this time, and Jughead groans loudly in the background.

Chapter Text

03.21.2016

He gets a package.

Jughead hasn't been to visit since January, but the calls are regular. F.P. knows he's busy, with classes and two jobs and a wife. So when he picks up the box, he's a little surprised Jug hadn't mentioned it.

C.O. Peters is at the post today. He looks vaguely annoyed as F.P. signs out his mystery gift. He narrows his eyes before saying, "You know, the Warden had to read this whole fucking thing himself when it came in. Your kid's publisher made a big fuss about 'limiting exposure' or some shit, so none of us could be the ones to check it. Like any of us don't already know why you're here. Said it was because it wasn't on the shelves till the end of the year or whatever."

F.P. stares blankly, not really sure what all that means.

Peters rolls his eyes, "He said its the best fucking thing he's read in ages."

He pushes the package at him and turns back to his station. F.P. heads to his cell to examine the weighty package. He's breathless as he sees the crisp pages, and begins to flip through.

Sins of the Father.

By Forsythe P. Jones III.

There's a dedication page, and it reads:

To the Andrews', thank you for all you did for me. To my Dad, thank you for for keeping me safe from what I couldn't know.

Elizabeth, this is all for you. I am all yours. I love you, I love you, I love you.

He reads the whole thing in a few days, and then starts again. He doesn't quite know what to say to Jughead when they speak next, but he thinks they understand each other, after digesting his son's writing. When he speaks to Alice next, she's grounded by it. They don't say much, as though Jughead had taken the words from all their mouths.

05.12.2016

The call is brief. Jughead spends the whole time bragging about Betty, and how she looked in her graduation gown, honors tassels galore as she finished her journalism program early. F.P. already heard all this from Alice, but he engages anyway, knowing how proud his son is of that girl.

"Hey, I know I haven't come around for a while, but Betty wants to go back to Riverdale for a few weeks this summer, and I have the time off, so I'll be seeing you soon, Dad."

F.P. smiles into the phone, letting his hopes soar at the thought of seeing his boy's face. "Can't wait, Jug."

06.19.2016

Six months since he's seen Jughead, and its like he's seeing a stranger.

Jug's hair is curling around his neck, the longest its ever been. His left arm is almost covered half way down his forearm, flowers blossoming around the snake. There's a tattoo behind his right ear F.P. can't make out. His shoulders are broader, and he looks so grown up. It takes him a minute to realize there's a ring on his left hand and the absence of the chain at his neck. He doesn't mention it, not really sure what it means.

"Happy Father's Day, old man." His grin is brilliant, all teeth.

F.P. laughs, "Careful there kid, you'll be catching up before you know it."

Jughead hums, "Don't tell Betty that, she's convinced she found a grey hair the other week."

"She doing okay?"

"Yeah, she's amazing," F.P. notes the way his son touches his thumb to his wedding band. "She's taking the summer to write some freelance stuff. She has this position at a publishing house as a junior editor starting in August, then she wants to get going on applying to grad school."

F.P. smiles, "Alice must be proud."

"She is. She is." Jughead looks at his hands with a soft smile, "So am I."

1 2.08.2016

For the first time, F.P. is the one who calls Alice.

She accepts the call on the third ring, "F.P., is everything alright?"

He sighs into the phone, "Yeah, yeah, I just…Jug told me they're not coming back to Riverdale for Christmas."

Alice is quiet for a beat, "They're going to Hawaii."

He wants to scoff. Hawaii? Jug had told him they would be busy and with his book tour starting in the new year, as well as his final semester at NYU. He can't blame his kid for taking a vacation with his girl; hell, if F.P. could of course he'd choose white sand beaches and tiny bikinis over visiting a snowy prison upstate.

"I think…I don't know F.P., I feel like we're losing them somehow." Alice sounds concerned, contemplative.

"What do you mean, Allie?"

She sighs. He tries to think back to the time when she never used to do that. "I don't know, F.P. I don't know."

He nods to himself and they hang up.

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."

Chapter Text

04.19.2018

There's no visit from Jughead. He'd been trying to come once a month since telling his dad about the baby. F.P. worries a little when the previous week yielded no phone call, and again when Saturday came and went and he never showed.

So when Jug picks up on the fourth ring today, he's relieved. But his son sounds a bit frazzled on the line.

"Fuck, Dad, I'm sorry, we've been a bit all over the place," In a small loft in Brooklyn, Jughead watches his very pregnant wife grimace, realizing how he'd totally forgotten about his father in the blur of the week. "We've been trying to get the baby's stuff all together, and Betty has had these, like fake contractions? Then our anniversary was Saturday, and my deadline got moved forward. I just…This kid is gonna be here before we know it and I feel like we are never going to have our shit all the way together in time for him."

F.P. makes a mental note about their anniversary date; neither he nor Alice had ever been told many details about that day four years ago. He smiles and says, "Its fine Jug, I figured you'd be getting busy as the day gets closer. Just wanted to make sure everything was okay."

"Everything's perfect. Crazy, but perfect," Jughead pauses, and F.P. hears him mumble a be right back, sweetheart to Betty. "Hey, Dad, can I ask you something?"

His heart freezes for a moment, considering this moment as his adult son, a father-to-be, asks something of him. Suddenly F.P. is strikingly aware of how unfit he is to advise his son in this next chapter of his life. "Hate to break it to you Jug, but I'm not exactly the best resource for fatherly advice."

"No, its not that," there's shuffling on the line. "Well, maybe it is, but you're the only person who can really answer it anyway."

"Okay…"

"Do you," Jughead sighs. "When you gave me your name, did you…what did you mean by it, when you chose it?"

F.P. is quiet for what feels like forever. He's been thinking about fathers and sons a lot since Christmas. He shouldn't be surprised, with a name like theirs, that this question comes up.

He pushes a big breath out of his lungs, suddenly more nervous than he's been in years.

"Honestly Jug, I didn't give it too much thought," his chest feels tight with emotion. "I guess I wanted you to make it better. Maybe I wanted to give you a piece of me, something to carry on when I couldn't be...when I couldn't be there. But it wasn't supposed to be damning for you. Even if I did think that…you're nothing like me, kid, in all the best ways. And if you're worried about giving your boy this name, if you're worried you're passing on bad luck, don't be. I, well damn, obviously I ran with the shitty reputation of our name, but you broke the mold, son, if there was one to break. You've done so many good things, Jug. If you want to give him this, its not like, its nots making him like you; although if he's half the man you are, he'll be better than most."

There's silence, F.P. inhales. "Were you thinking about it? For him?"

Jughead nods on his end of the call, but doesn't tell him they'd already picked their son's name, only saying that Betty had brought it up.

06.05.2018

F.P. is tapping his heel nervously, sitting at the same metal table he'd shared with Jughead his first Christmas at Shankshaw. Mary Andrews had reached out to him wanting to meet, but hadn't given him a reason. He's not sure what could be wrong, but he's been awaiting this meeting all week.

"F.P., relax. I have good news," she smiles, looking like the same perky girl from high school for a brief moment, despite having aged. "I was contacted by the Warden last week about you. He said you've been an exceptional prisoner."

He nods. This is true. He's kept his head down, stayed out of trouble. The biggest issue had been his liver transplant, but that wasn't really a negative, just an inconvenience. He'd finished a tech program the year before, and was now working in the technical shop, doing electrical work. Since the transplant, he goes to the AA meetings, and had started doing yoga, much to Alice's amusement.

Mary continues, "Well, he and the board think you would be an excellent candidate to finish your time on parole."

Oh.

F.P. had spent the last seven and a half years preparing to spend twice that time locked up. He hadn't even dreamed of parole, not wanting to be idealistic. The possibility to get out now, with the birth of his first grandson to happen any day, its a lot to process.

Mary can see he's a little shocked and lays a hand on his arm before continuing, "It'll be about a three month process, F.P. You'll have to keep up the good behavior, but that shouldn't be hard. There will be three hearings, you'll advocate for yourself, because I can't be there with you. But we'll put together all the information showing how well you've done, the testimonies to your character I've asked Alice and Fred to prepare, and a statement from Cheryl Blossom. She wants to speak on your behalf; she's actually the one who approached the Warden. She doesn't think you should pay for her father's crimes any longer."

He's not even really sure which piece of information to tackle first. Completely speechless, he just looks at Mary Andrews, this woman who helped raise his son. She leans in and squeezes his arm.

"Look, F.P., I know this is all so much to hear," she begins, "but I think you should know you deserve this. You've done your time. And now, you have so much to see when you get out. We're so proud, so excited about Jughead and Betty. Just think about that, that baby? You'll get to be there for that. You're not going to have to miss much more, you're not going to have to miss out on him."

They wrap up their meeting, with Mary telling him to anticipate weekly calls as they move through the process.

Before she leaves, she tells him one more thing, "I haven't told Jughead yet, I didn't want to cause too much commotion with the baby coming. So if you hear from him, you should let him know. Fred, Alice, and I don't think its our news to share anyway."

C.O. Peters is walking him back to his cell when C.O. Lewinsky stops them. "Damn, Jones, its about time. You missed your phone call."

"I wasn't expecting a call today."

Lewinsky claps him on the shoulder, "I know. So don't you go telling anyone we took a message for you, Jones, but it was your son. He said it couldn't wait. Oh, and that he's sorry he won't be able to call or visit the next few weeks."

Peters moves him forward, but not before the other C.O. slips a folded piece of paper into F.P.'s chest pocket.

Back at his bunk, he unfolds the note:

Forsythe Pendleton Jones IV

06/05/2018 03:13 a.m.

6 lbs 9 oz, 17 inches

On a Tuesday in June, F.P. cries in his cell. As he wipes at his eyes, he thinks to himself, this is the last thing I'll ever have to miss.

09.17.2018

He hasn't seen Jughead since May. With the new baby, its just not possible for him to travel from the city. They speak on the phone every week, sometimes in whispers while the youngest Jones sleeps on his father's chest.

They call him C.J. He doesn't ask Jug what it stands for, having found out from Alice it stands for "Cooper-Jones." Its an idea borne from a long running joke of Veronica's evidently, as she refused to acknowledge Betty's forfeiture of her maiden name, referring to anything related to Jug and Betty's marriage as "Cooper-Jones."

He had gotten an envelope of photos about a week after the birth. He'd been breathless in his bunk flipping through the pictures of his grandson. He has dark, thick hair, and blue-grey eyes. He's practically all Jones; F.P. sheds a few tears at the sight of his son gazing down at the baby, all the nerves and love of a new father clear in his grin. He thinks this might be the worst thing he missed.

Jughead calls the first time when C.J. is almost three weeks old. Tells him the entirety of the birth story, how Betty made it look easy, how their son had screamed out his first breath. He fills him in on the last several weeks of exhaustion, stories of late nights awake while Betty nurses and the way their baby likes to grasp fingers. The adoration in Jughead's voice is all F.P. ever wanted for his son.

He doesn't tell him about getting paroled.

The first hearing had gone smoothly. As did the second and third. Before he knows it, he's approved for parole. Alice worries its a mistake not to tell Jughead, but he needs to do this.

So today is his last day in prison. Tomorrow, he'll see his son.

Chapter Text

09.18.2018

Alice waits for him outside the gates. She looks like she has something sharp to say, but he beats her to it.

"You look good, Cooper," he grins. Its been decades since they've amicably been in the same space as one another, but it may as well have been yesterday. "And I'm not just saying that because you're the first woman I've seen in the flesh in eight years."

She turns away to open the driver's door, "Smith."

"What?" He says once they're seated.

"I said Smith, F.P.," she says it like he's driving her crazy after only a few minutes together. "Hal and I divorced over two years ago."

F.P. loses his swagger with that. What the fuck is it with these people not telling him shit? Although, he can't say too much with what they're about to do.

"Allie, you didn't do that because of-"

"They're going to be pissed I didn't tell them," Alice says to cut him off.

He rolls his eyes and drops his inquisition. He has plenty of time to figure her out again. "Not at first, and you know it."

She hums noncommittally. They're quite for a long stretch of highway, not needing to fill the silence.

"Alice, you missed the exit toward the city."

"We're not going to the city," she replies, a superior note to her voice as she sits up a little straighter. "We're going home."

He gives her a wild look, "Alice, as much as I missed you too, I'd really like to see my son. We'll have plenty of time to get reacquainted with one another now that you've left that wet carpet of a husband-"

"Jesus, F.P., can you keep your unsavory thoughts to your self, please? I'm not taking you to my home, I'm taking you to yours, you snake." She glares out of the corner of her eye, but he sees some color to her cheeks. Even after all this time, he still gets to her.

"Well, I can't promise my mind won't wander. Or my hands, for that matter." His grin is sickening now, and she reaches out to swat him in the chest as he laughs before giving her an uncertain look.

"Honestly, F.P. Just trust me." The car is slowing, and he takes a moment to realize where they are.

Sunnyside Trailer Park.

He's completely confused now. They're going to the trailer? He figures Jughead would've sold it by now. He knows that the Serpents had paid it off, and that Jughead and Betty had frequented it in their high school days, but knows nothing beyond that. It hadn't exactly been a pressing conversation topic over the last eight years.

"Alice, what the hell?" He's out of the car but he's not making any moves to approach the old trailer.

She turns at the top of the stairs, hand on the doorknob. "Trust me."

He follows her inside. The first thing he realizes is that its been updated; what a ridiculous idea, renovating a trailer. The thought passes quickly as he takes in the random boxes in the living room and kitchen, piling up the walls. Despite that, the place is warm and tidy.

He doesn't notice the bottles drying in the dish rack, or the pack-n-play by the desk in the corner. He doesn't notice because there's his son.

Jughead's sleeping on the couch, his tatted arm curled around a little body clad in a grey onesie and beanie.

F.P.'s breath is caught in his throat at the sight, and he's only a little aware of Alice's hand on his arm, turning him towards a soft voice coming from the hall. "Juggie, where's the-"

Betty Jones stops short in the doorway. She looks tired, in black leggings and a ratty old S shirt. Her hair is damp, and her face is completely shocked.

"Mom, what…?" Suddenly she's moving towards him, and then he's in her arms. "Oh my god, oh my god, F.P. You're here. How are you here?"

She's pulled back now, hands on his shoulders. Alice jumps in, "Honey, he got parole."

Betty brings a hand up to cover her mouth and F.P. is suddenly aware that she's about to start crying. Before he can make a lousy attempt to comfort her, they're interrupted by a low voice.

"Hey, Dad," F.P. looks back to his boy. He's still laying on the couch, C.J. sleeping soundly on his chest as he rubs circles on the baby's back. His smile is so, so real.

"Hey, Jug."

09.29.2018

F.P. comes to find out that Jughead and Betty had just moved back to Riverdale three weeks before his release. They were making do in the trailer, having just closed on a cute yellow bungalow around the corner from Archie and Veronica's mini mansion.

He makes a joking comment to Jughead about keeping so much from him, looking down at his grandson in his arms when he does so. C.J.'s eyes are green now, like his mother's.

Jughead doesn't laugh. "Look, Dad. A lot happened in the last eight years."

"You think?" F.P. smirks, gesturing with a nod to the baby in his arms.

"Okay, yeah, clearly," this time Jughead speaks with a light chuckle. "I just didn't want to make it worse, I guess. By telling you all the things you couldn't be there for."

"It was gonna happen whether you told me or not, Jug."

Jughead reaches over to lightly trace his son's hairline. "I know that now."

10.06.2018

He stops by the new house.

Jughead opens the door with a finger to his lips, signaling that C.J. was sleeping. F.P. follows him past moving boxes out to the back yard. They stand with their hands in their pockets for a moment.

"Happy Birthday, Jughead." His throat feels tight, realizing this is the first one he's really been there for in nine years.

"Thanks, Dad."

The last few weeks had been strange. It was a harder transition than F.P. thought it would be. With the kids in the trailer, Alice had offered to let him stay in her guest room until they moved out again.

He'd spent the first few nights in what used to be Polly Cooper's room. After the fourth night, he slept in what used to be Hal Cooper's bed. They don't really talk about it, and F.P. is glad for that. He thinks words might ruin it, if they look too closely at the 30 years they'd spent apart; if they acknowledged that they wouldn't have had any of this (the grandbaby, the prison sentence, the quiet nights together) had they not walked the paths they did.

He works on Archie's construction crew. Having a job is a requirement of his parole, and he likes working with his hands. Thanks to the electrician's certificate he earned at Shankshaw, he'll do the wiring on all the projects now.

He transitions back to the trailer three days before Jughead's 24th birthday.

This time, its easier than he thought it'd be.

"You know, Jug, how much I love you, right?" His son turns towards him from where he'd been fiddling with the baby monitor. Jughead may be a father himself now, but he's still his boy. His hair is short again, and F.P. is moved to see he has his ratty old crown beanie pulled over it. The tattoo sleeve has crept up his neck, the date of C.J.'s birthday inked low on his throat.

F.P.'s still a little startled by the tattoos, but Jughead explains them simply one night in whispers over his son. The serpent winds up his elbow, in a garden of dark flowers; his says the snake is for F.P. There are Daffodils and Larkspurs, the flowers of April (for his wedding month) and July (for Betty's birth month.) Honeysuckle twining his forearm for the baby. There's a rose for his mother, even if she never returned the voice message he left the day after C.J's birth. Poppy's for Jellybean, who followed in his foot steps to New York City, where she studies graphic design.

There's a roman numeral three behind his right ear, for himself.

In big, curling letters is Elizabeth over his heart, in a bed of Delphiniums. He never shows F.P. that one. Alice tells him that she'd only ever seen it in the pictures from the Hawaii vacation, but evidently it was his first one.

"Of course, Dad," Jughead's brow is furrowed, a loving look on his face despite it all, "After everything, of course I know."

The baby cries inside. Jughead squeezes F.P.'s shoulder as he moves inside to comfort his son.