Beronica Oneshots

Friends don't let freinds suffer alone

Betty was generally an upbeat person. She really was. When Archie needed someone to fix his car, she was happy to help. When Reggie needed a pitcher for pick-up baseball, she was glad throw in. When Jughead needed help babysitting Jellybean, she enjoyed playing hide 'n seek and baking them both cookies, even if half the cookie dough was sacrificed to their appetites before ever making it to the oven.

So that it had come to this showed how far she'd fallen. Betty poked morosely at her sundae and repeated, "I'm fine, Jughead."

Jughead eyed the sundae, melted into a morass of browns and reds; Betty, trying her tired best to drudge up a convincing smile; then the sundae again. His look was one of concern, one of horror. It said, despairingly: This is a problem not even ice cream can fix.

"Archie broke you," Jughead said. Then, "I'll break his kneecaps."

"Jughead!"

"Okay, I won't," Jughead agreed, allowing that violence wasn't his style, "but I can replace his car battery with lime Jello. I bet Reggie would help."

She definitely looked desperate, Betty knew, if Jughead was volunteering to team up with Reggie. "You're his best friend," Betty reminded Jughead.

"And you're my friend," Jughead said. "Friends stick together."

Betty dunked a maraschino cherry with her spoon. "It's not Archie."

Jughead took her at her word, settling back. After she dunked the cherry a third time, he stole the spoon and the glass boat, slurping up the mess with relish. "So?" he said.

He was developing an ice cream soup goatee, and Betty's lips quirked at the corners despite herself. "No point in letting good food go to waste?" she asked, a small bubble of humor breaking free from the harsh grip the butterflies of nausea held over her stomach.

"None at all." Jughead pointed the spoon at her and said, "Now tell Uncle Jughead all about it."

"There's no 'it.' I'm fine."

"Is it Reggie?" Jughead looked almost gleeful at the prospect of starting up another prank war.

Betty shook her head, leaning back into the booth and wondering how she could distract Jughead from the subject if seven hamburgers, two shakes, and a melted sundae failed to do the trick.

"Good," Jughead said. "You have better taste than that."

"It's not boy troubles," Betty said, flagging down Pop Tate for another chocolate shake.

"Tell me you're not fighting with Veronica again," Jughead said.

"I'm not fighting with Veronica again." Technically, this was true. Veronica might be the cause of Betty's current funk, but she had no clue.

That was where the trouble lay.

--

In a way, Betty was content for the longest time to fight with Veronica over Archie.

Archie would generally choose Veronica first, but Veronica was usually fairly whimsical, throwing Archie over at the least provocation. In the sprints, Veronica won handily with her handbags and four inch heels. In the distance running, Betty hunkered down for the long haul, still going even when Veronica broke a heel and decided she'd rather flag down a passing taxi than deal with all this hard work and sweat-of-the-brow business.

Betty had always thought that someone else would catch Veronica's eye, and in the end, Betty would have her small-town, girl-next-door wedding. Veronica would naturally stand at her side, the best bridesmaid a girl could have. It would be the perfect happily ever after.