Chapter Text
Chapter Four: Mirrorball
I want you know
I’m a mirrorball
I’ll show you every version of yourself tonight
I’ll get you out on the floor
Shimmering beautiful
And when I break it’s in a million pieces
Hush
When no one is around, my dear
You’ll find me on my tallest tiptoes
Spinning in my highest heels, love
Shining just for you
Hush
I know they said the end if near
But I’m still in my highest heels, love
Shining just for you
There was a thick blanket of snow on the ground outside. There was a crackling fire in the hearth. Clad in flannel pajamas and thick wool socks, with a steaming mug of hot chocolate in her hands, Betty sat curled into the corner of the sofa at her parents’ house. She felt sluggish and lazy; her limbs were heavy with the delicious weight of relaxation. In the floor in front of her, surrounded by untied ribbons, ripped-through cardboard boxes, and colorful wrapping-paper carnage sat the dark-haired light of her life. Her parents adored him, the twins fought for his attention, and her sister had a secret, goofy smile that was just for him. It was seamless, the way her family had evolved into this happy hodge-podge.
Seamless and comfortable and wonderful and exciting and adventurous altogether. Somehow, her life managed to be thrilling and exhilarating while still being the safest she had ever felt.
She smiled to herself, took a cautious sip of her chocolate and let herself think back to how this beautiful, wonderous life of hers had all come together and culminated.
Betty Cooper had received two proposals of marriage in her life. The first she had viewed through the rose-tinted glasses of puppy love. It had been at her graduation party, surrounded by friends and family and acquaintances. It had been eloquent and sweet and warm. A lovely speech. At the time, she’d thought it the epitome of romance that Archie had wanted to share such a beautiful moment with everyone important in their lives.
Looking back though, she could see that it had also been kind of a failsafe move on his part.
At the time, she had, at eighteen, been very conscientious of how she was perceived by those around her. She would never have turned down a public proposal. Never in a million years would she cause that kind of scene or invite that kind of scrutiny. Archie had known that about her. He’d known that when he dropped down to one knee with his Colgate-boy-next-door grin and his grandmother’s diamond ring in a black velvet box, there was no way in the world she’d ever turn him down. He’d known that and he’d used it to his advantage – though the thought had never occurred to her at the time.
And admittedly, he’d done it with a great deal of charm and charisma, two things that had always come easy to Archie Andrews.
The party had been a barbecue in the Andrews’ backyard. The evening had been warm but not humid or muggy; there was a pleasant recurring breeze that kept the air around them comfortable. Multi-colored fairy lights had been strewn along the fence to create an appealing amber glow throughout the Andrews’ backyard. Betty had just eaten a cheeseburger along with what she had been sure had been her weight in potato salad, and she had just started eyeing the strawberry pie on the dessert table with certain predatory intent, when Archie had walked over to where she’d been seated at a picnic table.
He appeared at her side from – she wasn’t sure where. She couldn’t remember his presence in the yard before that moment. He’d run his large, calloused hand gently from the nape of her neck down her spine. She’d smiled up at him, her green eyes alight with the joy and fervor from the excitement of the day, anticipation of the future, and the youthful certainty of young love. He trailed his hand once more up her back, over her shoulder, and down her arm where he took her hand. With a gentle tug, he’d pulled her from her seat, away from the table, and led her to the middle of the yard.
When he stopped them both dead center and turned to face her, Betty had blinked back at him in somewhat confusion.
“Archie?” she asked.
He smiled his All-American grin and began, “Betty –”
It was that moment that Betty noticed that the noise and general chatter of the party had died down to a dull murmur and everyone in attendance seemed to be focused on them. They were the center of attention. Then, Archie knelt down onto one knee and Betty felt her breath catch in the back of her throat. Everything inside of her seemed to erupt in unchecked astonishment. Her brain couldn’t altogether process that what was happening was actually happening. It was something that she’d dreamt of countless times throughout her childhood and on into adolescence.
Holy shit, her mind blared, Archie was proposing!
“Betty,” Archie said again, “you’re my dream girl, my high-school sweetheart, my childhood crush, my perfect girl-next-door. I think everyone here,” he cast an almost coy glance around at all of the approving expressions, “has known since we were little kids that we were meant to be together.”
That was when she started crying. She pulled her hand (strategically, here right hand) out of his grasp to cover her mouth as lovely glistening tears began to flow down her flushed cheeks. She was typically an ugly crier, but somehow that night she managed to control her features so that she looked starry-eyed and happy. (It probably should have been the first red-flag that she had been able to control her emotions during the moment that she’d dreamt of for so many years.)
“You’ve always been there for me – from helping me learn to read in the second grade, to cheering me on at the National Championships, helping me study for the SATs, and being the best damn prom queen this prom king could have ever asked for. All of my memories are laced with you; your smile, your support. I can’t imagine finding anyone better for me than you. I can’t imagine loving anyone in the way that I love you. So here, in front of our friends and family, I’m asking you, Elizabeth Cooper, to be my wife.”
She had expected the word ‘YES’ to fly from her lips with a speed that the world had never seen, but interestingly, it hadn’t. (Red flag number two.)
Her initial thought had actually been, But we’re so young. We still have college. There are things that we need to see, to accomplish first.
But then she had cast a glance around at the expectant faces of ALL of the people that loved her, all gathered in once place, and all thinking that they already knew her answer. They all loved her and Archie, had watched the two of them grown up, had witnessed the blossom of their romance – and she just couldn’t bear to disappoint them. Nor could she ever hurt or embarrass Archie in that way. She had always planned to marry him, anyway. So, it would happen a smidge sooner than she expected but that was okay. It would be fine.
They would be fine.
So, she’d beamed a grin to match his right back at him and said, “Yes! Yes, of course, Archie! Of course, I’ll be your wife!”
He’d slipped his grandmother’s ring halfway onto her finger, (that was as far as it would go. It was a tad too small. Archie promised he’d get it sized as soon as possible. Four months later, Betty had swallowed her pride and taken it herself) then leapt to his feet, wrapped his arms around her waist, planted a kiss on her lips, and swung her around in a circle to the cheers of their audience.
It was a perfect, fairytale – show.
When Betty looked back on it, she realized it was a moment that she had once believed to be the most romantic thing to have ever happened in her life but had since seen just how skewed her perception of the situation had been and how truly one-sided everything was.
Sometimes, phrasing can matter so much as to mean everything. Archie hadn’t asked her to ‘marry him.’ He hadn’t asked her for a marriage.
He’d asked for a wife.
There was a difference, she’d learned.
If the first proposal had been tinted rose with youthful fancy; the second had been rainbow technicolor with surround sound and Hi-definition.
That night, that event, had been graceless and clumsy and so utterly and completely theirs, she couldn’t think on it and not smile.
Jughead Jones, world renowned author FP Jones, III with a net-worth in the seven digits and famous cheeseburger connoisseur/avoider of fancy haut cuisine had eschewed his typical aversion of trading on his name and used it to obtain reservations at the upscale, trendy, impossible-to-get-reservations French restaurant, La Petit Poisson.
Once seated by the hostess who was way too delighted to have a celebrity, especially a reclusive one, in her ‘little bistro,’ Jughead had indelicately yanked a fingertip beneath his tie as though it were strangling him.
He smirked at her and lifted an eyebrow, but Betty could tell that something was off. He hated places like this. She didn’t understand what they were doing there.
“So,” he said with an uneasy laugh under his tone, forced joviality, “you think I should get the Duck a l’orange? I bet they have it here.”
“Jug, what are we doing here?” Betty asked, leaned forward across the table to close the distance between them – only to immediately lean back again with the waiter appeared with a basket of very thin, very hard looking breadsticks.
“Hello,” he greeted, “my name is Sebastian and I’ll have the pleasure of serving you tonight.”
He then presented the label of a bottle of red wine, that Jughead had apparently pre-ordered when he’d made the reservation, to Jug for his approval. Betty watched the blank look on Jughead’s face snap away as he realized that the server was awaiting his command.
“Uh, yeah,” Jug said with a nod, “That’s, uh, that’s perfect.”
Sebastian uncorked the bottle, poured a miniscule amount into Betty’s glass and waited for her to complete the ritual – the swirl, the color, the sniff, the sip – yada yada yada.
Instead, Betty grabbed the glass, downed the wine in one gulp and said, “Awesome.”
Sebastian looked scandalized, but was far too well-trained to say anything about it. Instead, he poured them each a generous glass. “Would you care to hear about our specials this evening? Our chef has prepared a beautiful – ”
“No, thank you,” Betty cut him off. She really just wanted him to leave her and Juggie alone so she could figure out what in the hell was going on. She was not above interrogating her beloved, but she would rather not do it with an observer.
“But – ”
“No. Thank you.” Betty repeated firmly.
Sebastian sniffed, wiped his little white towel over their bottle of wine for a second, unnecessary time and retorted, “I’ll give you a few moments to peruse the menu, shall I?”
“That would be fabulous,” Betty snapped with a saccharine smile.
“Indeed,” another haughty sniff and Sabastian sauntered away from their table, left them in peace.
Once he was out of earshot, Betty again leaned into the table, “Juggie, what’s going on? You seem – I don’t know – off.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I just – I made this so awkward,” he stuttered, “I just – we, uh, I need to talk to you.”
Well, that didn’t sound good. That couldn’t be good. That was just a rephrasing of the good old “we need to talk” which never ended well for the participants. Had he brought her here to end things? A knot formed low in her stomach.
No.
Jughead wouldn’t do that to her.
Would he?
No. He wouldn’t do that to anyone. He was a better man than that.
But still…the knot in her stomach tightened.
“Okay,” she said with caution.
“I mean, you know you’re amazing, right?” he asked her, his neck flushed bright red, a small bead of sweat at his temple, “I mean, literally any guy on the planet would be lucky to have you.”
The knot jumped up into her throat. She couldn’t breathe. Her eyes stung with the beginning formation of tears. That was the classic opening lines for someone about to dump their significant other.
You’re amazing.
Anyone would be lucky to have you.
It’s not you, it’s me.
You’re gonna make some guy so lucky someday.
Just. Not. Me.
She took a quick sip of her wine, struggled to swallow past the constriction in her throat. Her hands closed into fists on the table and when she could hold it in no longer, she whimpered, “Oh, God.”
“Yeah,” Jughead said around an uncomfortable smile.
How dare he smile when he was about to destroy her heart?
“Are you – are – ” she struggled to get the words past her suddenly dry lips even as the first tear escape her eye, “are you about to break up with me?”
“What!?!” Jughead exclaimed and in his haste to reach for her, he knocked over her glass of wine. The red liquid immediately soaked through the pristine white of the table cloth and cascaded over the edge in a ruby waterfall right into Betty’s lap.
She pushed away from the table with a yelp and the back of her chair bumped into a waiter that happened to be standing right behind her.
Normally, she could have simply apologized and then dismissed herself to the Ladies’ room to weep and wallow in her misery about losing the love of her life.
However, this particular waiter at that particular moment was in the middle of lighting one of those flambé things or baked Alaska or something or other that required an open flame and flammable substance in the middle of crowded dining room. When Betty knocked into him with her chair, the flame erupted and all of the sudden the table next to theirs was engulfed in flames.
Jughead scrambled to his feet. With shrieks and gasps, the other patrons of the restaurant began a mass, uncoordinated exodus from the dining room. The poor, unfortunate waiter/victim of the Betty Cooper swatted at the flames uselessly with a towel or napkin or apron of some sort. Whatever the material, it was grossly ineffectual. Thick black smoke billowed upward from the raging inferno of the table and steadily filled the room. The hostess appeared with a tiny fire extinguisher that appeared comically inadequate for the situation at hand.
And then the sprinklers set off.
And as the water rained down on her, ruined her hair and make-up and the satin of her little black dress, Betty began to sob. Ugly sob. Mascara running, snot sliming from her red, scrunched up nose, and gaped mouth breathing as though she were trying to show the world her tonsils.
Jughead caught her by the elbow and pulled her away from the burning table, “Are you okay?”
“Don’t touch me!” she screamed and yanked her arm away from him.
“Betty?”
The restaurant manager appeared in what Betty was certain had at one time been a very sharp, probably tailored suit.
“Madame, Monsieur, I am afraid I am going to have to ask you to evacuate the premises.”
“Of cou – ”
“You can wait just a damn minute!” Betty cut Jughead off.
“Betty – ”
“How could you do this to me?” she cried and shoved at his chest, the material of his now sodden dress shirt making a slight squish sound upon contact.
“I’m not!” he pleaded and tried to pull her to him.
“I love you!” she cried and hit him in the chest with a closed fist.
“I love you, too!” he replied even as he struggled to get his arms around her body as she flailed and raged against him.
“Madame, I –”
“Shut up! I thought we were happy!”
“We are!!!”
“Then how could you – ”
“Goddammit, woman, I am trying to ask you to marry me!”
“Wait?” Betty wiped water and mascara from her eyelids and cheeks, “What?”
“Sir – ”
“Shut up!” Betty and Jughead shouted in unison.
“I’m trying to ask you to spend the rest of our lives together, baby?”
“Really?”
“Yes!”
“But – the way you – I thought – ”
“Why does your brain always jump to the absolute worst conclusion?”
Betty shrugged, “My therapist calls it catastrophic worry.”
“Of course, she does.”
“You – you wanna marry me?”
“Jeez, Betts,” Jughead said and his eyes went impossibly soft in that way that made her knees weak, “don’t you know I’d die for you? I love you so much, it is an actual, physical feeling. I’m terrified by how much I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life just being near you if you’ll let me. I just – I want to spend the rest of my life doing everything in my power to make you happy; spend the rest of our time together, you know? If you’ll have me.”
As far as proposals went, it was pretty clumsy – and also pretty fucking awesome.
“Of course, I’ll have you!” Betty sobbed again but for an entirely new and better reason.
“I’m afraid I really must insist that you – ”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, we’re leaving,” Jughead cut the, honestly this poor guy, beleaguered, soaked to the bone restaurant manager off for the hundredth time, wrapped his arm around Betty’s shoulders, and guided her through the indoor downpour to the crowded street outside. A crowd had gathered alongside the evacuated patrons of the restaurant and a firetruck had just screeched to a stop at the corner, rubber suited alpha-male types ran about and shouted about hoses.
“There’s a great hotdog cart about a block from here,” Jughead said with a quirky, sideways grin.
“I’m starving!” Betty replied.
Jughead pulled her to a stop just as a fireman broke a window of the restaurant behind her. He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and removed a dripping wet robin’s egg blue velvet box.
The stone was easily the size of the nail on her pinky finger and sparkled with the light hit it. Betty allowed Jughead to place it on her finger, (it slid all the way down because he was sneaky and learned her ring size) then she threw her arms around his neck kissed him as though she would swallow his very soul.
That night, they spread a duvet out in their living room and dined picnic style, naked, on a feast of street-cart hotdogs and a fifteen-dollar bottle of wine that they grabbed from the all-night grocer around the corner from their apartment.
They did not light candles.
It was one of the best nights of Betty’s life.
The memory caused Betty to smile over the rim of her coffee cup at her husband as he poked at the first in the hearth with an iron poker. He was weary of flames, but he’d agreed to tend the fire since he was closest that morning.
The first time Betty Cooper had gotten married, it was front page news. The entire town gathered to see the All-American girl marry the golden boy next door. There were presents and pictures and attendants and caterers and chiffon. It had been one of the biggest to-dos that the little town of Riverdale had ever seen; every little girl’s dream.
The second (and final) time she’d gotten married had been somewhat different. Her fiancé, though he could have placed an announcement and all of New York would have turned up to see his famous ass, was very much the lowkey sort of fellow. They agreed on Riverdale, but rather than a big, showy ceremony at the church, they married on the bankside of Sweetwater River.
The backyard of Betty’s childhood home had been discussed as a potential location, but it had been quickly vetoed once the proximity of her former husband’s very current residence was taken into consideration. Not that Betty or her intended truly cared if Archie knew of their upcoming nuptials, in fact in a town as small as Riverdale, it was almost a certainty that he was very much aware; but Betty had never been the petty sort. She had no desire to rub her newfound happiness in his face. Nor did she wanted him to do something ridiculous or cause some foolish scene, as he had always been apt to do when given the chance.
So, the river it was.
In the end, that had not stopped Archie from making a scene; it just thankfully did not happen at their wedding.
Rather than the whole town as witnesses, the ceremony was limited to family and a handful of close friends. Reggie and Veronica, of course, stood up with them as Best Man and Matron of Honor (though V took serious umbrage with the word ‘matron’.)
“Why can’t I be maid?” she’d spat, “I’m young!”
Betty smiled, “It has nothing to do with age and everything to do with marital status. You’re married, therefore, you are a matron.”
“That sounds like some patriarchal bullshit to me!”
The groom wore a charcoal grey suit, a crisp white shirt without a tie and the top three buttons unbuttoned, and white tennis shoes. Instead of the layers of silk and lace and chiffon, the bride wore a light blue sundress that made absolutely no attempt to hide the gentle swell of her belly.
Setting her coffee mug on the end table at her side, Betty stared at her husband and their four-year old son as they played with a shiny new firetruck in the floor. The boy was a mirror-image of his father; soft, midnight, tasseled curls, olive skin, and bright green eyes. It made her heart ache with the overabundance of love to see the miniature version of Jughead running free.
They’d argued over the tot’s name, of course. She’d jokingly suggested Forsythe Four as it was a ‘family tradition’ but that had made a vein pop out in Jughead’s forehead, so she’d never made the joke a second time. After much discussion, debate, fighting, making-up (in the best way) and consideration, they’d settled on Holden Morrison Cooper-Jones. Jughead delighted at the pretension of it all and exclaimed that was the real family tradition and the boy would surely come to loathe the moniker as was the Jones’ way.
Betty hadn’t been pregnant when they’d become engaged…she didn’t think. It was hard to say.
In all honesty, when she and Jughead officially became free to be together, her need for that particular sense of control had sort of – melted away. Her inclination toward militant promptness with her birth control became kind – lackadaisical. She missed it for days at a time occasionally. When she’d mentioned it to Jughead, he’d shrugged in response.
“It’s your body, Betts,” he said, “you know that. I’d love to make a little Betty with you. If you’re ready, I’m game but it is not just my decision. That’s where I stand. Baby; I’m ecstatic. No baby and just you; still ecstatic. I just don’t want you to give up your dream for any reason. If you did get pregnant, we’d figure it out.”
Being with a partner that she could be completely herself with; completely vulnerable; completely imperfect; no pretense, sugar-coating, or manipulations, it had changed so much about how she viewed the world and her place in it. To have someone support every dream, every aspiration, every idea no matter how big or small was something of a revelation for her.
So, she’d stopped worrying about her pill and eventually, she stopped the refills. They didn’t necessarily try to get pregnant; but they sure as hell didn’t try to not get pregnant. So, really, she could have conceived at any point during their relationship. She was firmly under the belief that it had happened the night that he’d proposed. The had been a hell of night.
There were, of course, the whispers and the gossip that since she was pregnant prior to their actual marriage, it had clearly been a shotgun wedding. These were people who knew neither her nor Jughead. They didn’t understand the kind of intimacy, trust, and complete devotion that the two had toward one another. They didn’t know the lengths to which Betty and Jughead had gone to in order to be together. Not to say they didn’t have their issues. When they learned of their impending bundle of joy and anxiety, they’d had the worst argument of their relationship to date…and it had all centered around whether to stay in the city or to make the move back to the burbs, and more specifically, to Riverdale. Betty loved the idea of their ‘daemon-baby’ as Jug lovingly called it growing up with his cousins and grandparents. Jug said you couldn’t give a kid the kind of culture and education that the city had to offer anywhere else. He also worried about Betty’s classes as she had been only a few semesters short of graduating with a degree in journalism at the time. Betty had assured him that there was fantastic schools outside of the city as well as inside and to stop being such a snob.
In the end, Betty had gotten her way as she was wont to do and Jughead had begun the process of house hunting in Riverdale.
Of course, there was a significant drawback to the move back to her hometown and it reared its bright red-head on one of the weekends that she and Jug were in town house-hunting. They’d been married about two months, and Betty was nearing the end of her term so she was heavily rounded with her child and wanted a Pop’s half-vanilla-half-strawberry milkshake more than she wanted her next breath.
Jughead was in the middle of a Zoom meeting with his editor at the moment and couldn’t jump up to fetch it for her as he normally would. So, she’d snatched up the keys to the rental car, blown him a kiss, and headed out to grab it and a cheeseburger for him for lunch.
She perched on one of the red-cushioned stools while Pop Tate fawned over her, the fingertips of one hand drummed lightly against the firm swell of her belly. It was amazing how natural that little round ball had felt in her abdomen. She’d always thought the idea was somewhat alien; another human living within your body, draining your energy and using up all of your nutrients – it sounded like a sci-fi movie concept if there ever was one but it supposedly the most natural thing in the world for a woman to go through. It had never seemed as such to her.
Until she’d gotten pregnant with Jughead’s baby.
Then it seemed inevitable, natural, the proper order of the universe.
As she sipped her first milkshake (Pop was putting a second in a to-go cup for her, that Earth angel) and awaited Jughead’s burger and the chili cheese fries that had been a complete impulse buy, she’d instinctively glanced over her shoulder when the bell above the door had chimed.
Her ex-husband stood frozen in the middle of the entryway and stared at her, eyes wide and mouth agape.
Betty forced the thick, frosty drink of goodness down her throat and then arranged her mouth into what she hoped to be a soft smile. “Hello, Archie.”
His gaze dropped to her baby bump, then jumped back up to her eyes. He sneered, “So, it’s true?”
Betty couldn’t hold in the soul-deep sigh. She hadn’t seen him in ages and after a grand total of fifteen seconds in his company, she was exhausted. “Really, Archie?”
“No, no, no!” he went on and waved a hand in front of him as though swatting a fly, “No, this is great! You’re knocked up!”
“Wow.”
“I mean,” he shrugged, “I thought you didn’t want kids. Isn’t that right?”
Betty squeezed her eyelids tight and pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers, “Archie – ”
“Isn’t that why you pitched that fit when I wanted us to start a family?”
“Let’s not have this conversation, Archie,” Betty said, all rational and calm as she tried to steer him away from the eventual end of the interaction, “It will not end the way that you want it to.”
“I guess that’s one way to get a guy to marry you, though, huh,” Archie charged forward, a cruel twist of his mouth.
That brough Betty’s gaze shooting up to meet his.
“Hey, now!” Pop chided as he set the bag of Betty’s food on the counter in front of her, “there’s no cause to be nasty, Archie!”
“It’s okay, Pop,” Betty said and patted his hand. She, with not insignificant effort, hoisted herself off of the stool and grabbed her food. She closed the distance between herself and her former spouse, “Archie, Archie, Archie – it wasn’t that I didn’t want kids. I just didn’t want them with you.”
She shoved past him, bumped his shoulder with her own, and sashayed from the diner. At least, in her mind it was a brilliant sashay with swinging hips and hair. In reality, it was more of a waddle but dammit, she was due in like a month and it was a waddle with style!
And so, the dreaded scene had come and gone and no one had been seriously maimed. She and Jughead moved to a cute little house three blocks from her parents. Betty graduated with her bachelor’s while Jug and a ten-month old Holden cheered for her along with her parents in the audience.
And whenever they passed Archie on the street, he made a point to blatantly look in the opposite direction like the child that he was.
But he didn’t matter anymore.
Her father appeared in the living room to whisk Holden outside to build a Christmas snowman and Betty watched Jughead get to his feet and start shoveling up the wrapping paper debris into a large black trash bag. Betty pushed up from the couch, crossed the living room, and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind.
“Hello, lover,” she breathed, her lips against the shell of his ear.
He covered her hand with his own, squeezed, and leaned back into her, “Hey there, beautiful.”
“I have another Christmas gift for you,” she said.
“Oh, yeah?” he replied, his interest peeked, “Does it involve you, naked?”
Betty chuckled, buried her face in his shoulder blade, inhaled the wonderful scent of him. “In a way.”
“You have my attention.”
“Well…” she said, then pushed in his arm, forced him to spin around to face her. She reached up and cupped his sweet, gorgeous face between her palms, “what shall we name number two?”