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Their first child was born on the fourth of December, just shy of dusk on a cold winter night. She had her mother’s eyes; a piercing storm of emerald green filled with both a gentleness and determination only possessed by a Cooper woman. Her soft cries echoed off the pale blue walls of the hospital room, intertwining with the low buzz of the heart monitor and his wife’s own happy sobs. Jughead didn’t realise that his own prideful tears had escaped his body until the saltiness trickled down his cheek, and into the corner of his mouth, leaving a lingering taste on the flesh of his tongue. Not that he cared for it. There were instants throughout a person’s life that mattered more than upholding the faux expectations of masculinity imposed upon them by society. For Jughead, this was one of those moments.
“Would you like to hold her?” A nurse gently tapped him on his shoulder. Jughead wiped the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand, nodding silently. He held his hand out, waiting for the nurse to gently coax the small child into his arms.
She was so tiny, Jughead thought. He feared dropping her, although he also felt that if he held her too tight she would’ve disappeared into thin air. It was rare that Jughead was ever at a loss of words. He was a writer. His world revolved around being able to put words together out of thin air and create magic. Yet, he was unable to string a full sentence together, still shocked that a tangible representation of his and Betty’s love was here, right in his arms.
“Hey there Juliet,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss against the tender flesh of her forehead. “I’m deeply sorry that you’ve unfortunately, inherited my nose.”
A giggle escaped Betty’s lips, and Jughead slowly walked over to the hospital bed where she stared at him and their daughter within fondness in her tired eyes.
Before this, Jughead truly believed that the only conviction he was certain about was his love for Betty Cooper. He was definite of this as a six-year-old boy, watching Betty, dressed in a pastel pink dress with her wide, innocent doe eyes, punch Reggie Mantle in the face, who was almost twice her size, after he had made fun of Jughead’s hat. But now, as he stared at the face of his child who was the perfect mixture of both himself and the woman that he loves, Jughead was certain he would risk anything to protect her. The immense love he held for his wife only multiplied for their daughter, who was currently pressed against his chest, to the point he feared that his heart would burst from affection.
So, this was what it felt like to be a father, Jughead thought. To have your whole heart, mind and soul entrapped by a smile from a small human being.
“How are you feeling?” He asked, leaning down to gently capture Betty’s lips to his own.
She scrunched up her nose, “Exhausted.”
It was then that he truly got to look at his wife, who despite having pushed a human child out of her body in the past hour, still looked ethereally beautiful as always. If possible, even more so. Blonde tendrils stuck to her forehead which was glazed with a thin layer of sweat, framing her sharp cheek bones that were tinged with pink. Her eyes were weary and exhaustion showed, though they never lacked kindness.
She was the girl, no, woman, who held his hands on the day of his father’s trial. The woman who he cherished with his whole being and promised devotion to for the rest of their lives. The woman who had provided him with nothing but warmth and a home throughout their childhood to their lives as adults. And now, she was the woman who had carried their child for nine months and had given Jughead the greatest gift of all; a family of his own.
“You never fail to amaze me more and more each day, Betts,” Jughead stated, furrowing his eyebrows. “I love you and I am always in awe of you. You’ve given me so much, you’ve loved me with your whole heart even at times when I was a complete, utter dick.” He itched to run a hand through his hair, before remembering that he held a very tiny child, his child, within his arms. “Thank you, for everything. Fuck, you are my everything.”
“Jughead come here,” Betty said. She shuffled around, making room next to her on the small, hospital bed. He climbed onto the mattress, after tenderly placing Juliet into Betty’s hold. She turned her body towards him, fixing her gaze onto his face. “I love you. You and me, we’re in this together. We’ve always been in this together. I’m not going to leave, not now, not ever. And I know for damn sure you won’t either.” She grasped his hand into her own, clutching it against her chest, where Jughead could feel the beating of her heart. “You, me and Juliet, this is it. This is real.”
He thought to himself for a split that maybe, just maybe, heaven did exist and that he was living it. For the umpteenth time that night, Jughead felt tears prickle his eyes. He nuzzled his nose against her tender cheek, as Betty left out a soft sigh. “I love you and I’ll never stop loving you.”
A familiar, comforting silence swathed their bodies with the exception of the white noise that engulfed the three of them. Just then, Juliet let out a loud wail, wiggling in Betty’s arms. The nurse, who had busied herself outside of the door with charts, rushed inside at the sound of Juliet. Jughead stood up as the nurse hurriedly aided by Betty’s side, guiding her to feed Juliet for the first time.
Betty winced as Juliet eagerly latched onto her breast. “Your daughter definitely has your appetite.”
Jughead laughed. “But she gets all her beauty from her mum.” Jughead winked, pressing a chaste kiss onto Betty’s forehead.
“Since when did you become such a smooth talker?” Betty snorted in disbelief. Jughead placed a hand against his chest, pretending to be offended by the comment. Though Jughead knew that nothing Betty said could ever offend him. Never, in the years he had known Betty, had she said anything maliciously to anyone and meant it. Not to her murderer father who tormented her, nor to her overbearing mother who still called her every week. Simply, Betty Cooper just did not have a bad bone in her body. She was the light in Jughead's life, the gasp of fresh air after he had been drowning for so long.
“I’m a writer Betts, it’s literally in the job description.”
She rolled her eyes. Suddenly there was a knock on the door, Jughead's eyes flickered down to his daughter who was still feeding hungrily on his wife.
"That must be Archie, Veronica and Cheryl." He hesitated. "I can tell them to come back another time?"
At this, Betty rolled her eyes again. “Jug it's fine. And what happened to the hashtag-free-the-nipple Jughead who was literally raging about the double standards when it comes to the human anatomy, last week?”
“He’s still here,” Jughead argued defensively. “He just doesn’t want you to make you uncomfortable.” Betty gave him a pointed look. Defeatedly, he walked over to the door, ushering their friends into the room quietly. Jughead turned to stand next to Betty, observing the trio, who with wide, awestruck eyes, stood in the middle of the room unsure of what to do next.
It was almost comical, Jughead admitted.
Against the contrast of the bleak hospital walls, the trio could not have stood out more. Veronica Lodge, the Manhattan princess, was adorned in her iconic pearls and a pristine black dress that one would choose to wear to a dinner at the Met, not to the hospital. Jughead scoffed. Having grown up with Veronica, he was aware that this would've been one of Veronica's more casual attires, too. Cheryl Blossom was someone Jughead’s teenage self would’ve laughed at, at the thought of her attending the birth of his first born. She was donned in various shades of her iconic red, with a genuine large grin on her face. He wasn’t sure if she was dressed to impress or dressed to kill, perhaps possibly both. Archie, on the other hand, stood out for an entire different reason. His bright red hair, along with his old, bright college varsity football jacket that adorned his body screamed in midst of the white walls that surrounded him. Something that probably sparked an argument between him and Veronica, being Archie refusing to give the jacket up while Veronica threatened to burn it. Archie radiated a naivety, unlike the other two who demanded nothing less of authority just with their aura.
Out of the three before him, Archie Andrews was the only one Jughead would’ve truly predicted to be here with him ten years ago. After all, he was his oldest friend. The person whom Jughead had shared a sand box with as a child, and later a room with as a teenager during the short period of his life when he was homeless. The only person Jughead would forgive, other than Betty, for eating the last piece of cake in the fridge. Of course, as a brooding teenager covertly in love with Betty Cooper, Jughead was sure that he’d be the one who had sat in the waiting room chair for god-knows-how-long, while Betty gave birth to a baby with thick, red locks and the same gullible gaze that was almost always present on Archie’s face.
"How are you feeling?" Twiddling the brooch on her blouse mindlessly, Cheryl asked, the question directed towards her cousin.
“Be careful Cheryl, someone might think that you actually have a heart.” Jughead quipped up teasingly. Cheryl glared at him in response.
Over the years, instead of the hostility that was almost always present between the two for the majority of time, Jughead and Cheryl had formed a mutual respect, often one that resulted in friendly banter from Jughead, while Cheryl replied with her sharp snipes. She, and all the red had grown on him, especially during nights at the Wyrm, or more so now the local bar in Manhattan, where they confessed their endless love towards their girlfriends to each other over tequila. After all, friendly nature between the two was inevitable, with Cheryl becoming a larger constant in both Betty and the Serpents’ lives.
Warmly, Betty smiled. "I'm fine Cheryl, thank you." She readjusted her hospital gown, removing the cloth that was draped over her shoulder from before she had finished feeding Juliet.
“Oh thank god, I was worried that this had turned from a Richard Curtis film into something directed by Wes Craven.” Veronica chipped in, sighing in relief. Archie stared at her blankly, to which Veronica shot him a pitiful smile and patted his cheeks. “I’ll explain later Archiekins.”
"Everyone, meet Juliet Austen Cooper-Jones." Betty smiled, grazing the tip of her index finger along the soft cheek of her daughter.
“Well that’s a mouthful,” Cheryl muttered. “I worry for the straights."
"But then again, why did I expect more when the father of the child is named Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Third?” She glanced over at Jughead, running her disapproving gaze over his attire. Jughead shrugged, unaffected by the comment.
The trio had unconciously shifted closer to the bed, and closer to Betty, Jughead and Juliet, within the few minutes. Veronica let out a soft shaky gasp, seeing the face of her best friends' child for the first time. Jughead was also rather certain that Cheryl had tears streaming down from her eyes. Though if one was to ask, she would never admit such thing to anyone out loud. Gently, Archie reached out, Juliet curiously gripping one of his fingers with her tiny, yet strong, fist.
It was in that moment that Jughead knew that his friends, who he proudly deemed as family, would undoubtedly protect Juliet fiercely, like their own, for the rest of their lives. He was surrounded by the people who he loved most and who loved him back the same. And now, these same people, alongside himself and Betty, would cherish Juliet indubitably. They would spoil her with affection; give her a warm, safe home and provide her with the loving family that their own parents failed to provide them with. They were his family. Now they were Juliet's, too.
"She's so small," Archie said, his breath hitched.
Veronica glanced up at Betty with a fervency, one that was unknown to both himself and Betty, until now. "She's perfect."
"Amongst your best articles and books, she is the best thing that you two have created together."
Slowly, Betty's eyes met Jughead's own. They gave each other a knowing smile, as Jughead's hand reached to clutch Betty's. He squeezed her hand softly, replying to Veronica with all the genuine pride he could muster, "We know."
And Jughead finally thought to himself that maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.
fin.