Author's note: Due to lack of inspiration, I have deleted "The Lies They Told" + "Of Roses and Pastels". I still have a lot of ideas for stories but needed to find one that I actually wanted to write alongside "Shattered Glass" + "Down the Rabbit Hole". So, without further ado, here we go.

It was the feeling of a hand trailing up her arm softly that first brought Betty back to the land of the living. She nuzzled further into her pillow, sighing contentedly as the hand was replaced by lips and those lips pressed feather-like kisses to her skin.

"Mm," she hummed, body buzzing.

"Open those pretty eyes, baby," a voice murmured, and Betty smiled. Cracking an eye open, she spotted her boyfriend of three years staring down at her.

"Hi," she whispered, and James grinned.

"Hi, yourself," James replied. He leaned in for a kiss but Betty stilled him with a gentle hand to his cheek, and he quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Morning breath," she mumbled sheepishly, very much aware of the taste in her mouth. He laughed.

"Baby, I don't care about that," he stated. He placed his hand underneath her chin, gripping it, and placed a kiss on her surprised lips. She tried to get her body to relax and melt into the kiss but she couldn't quite get there. He pulled back a moment later.

"Why are you so tense?" James wondered, and she shook her head, opting to aim for a smile.

"I'm not," she assured gently. She leaned forward and kissed him softly, urging her body to remain calm. It wasn't that she didn't love her boyfriend, because she truly did. It was just that the mornings after a night filled with alcohol always left her feeling out of sorts. She, not for the first time, had asked him to take it easy on the drinking at her work party the night before. Of course, he didn't heed her advice, and damn well drank himself into oblivion. It was a miracle that she was able to get him home.

When they pulled apart, James cupped her cheek, trailing his thumb over her skin.

"I love you," he said. "It's going to be you and me, baby. Forever."

Trying not to harp on the fact that his promise sounded less like a promise and more like a warning, she smiled as much as she could.

"Forever," she mouthed.

They stayed in bed for a few more moments, allowing Betty the opportunity to enjoy the calm before eventually rising up. She sat on the edge of the bed, sliding her feet into her slippers.

"Don't forget, I have a meeting with my editor tonight, so I'll be home late," she said. She could feel James's eyes on her and knew what he was thinking without even having to see his face.

"Not too late, babe," he said, hand squeezing the top of her shoulder. It wasn't painful but it wasn't comfortable, either. She resisted the temptation to squirm away from the unwanted touch, knowing he was just showing her he cared. She nodded her head.

"I'll try my best," she murmured.

"Good."

XXX

Betty made it to the office with thirty minutes to spare. Perks of being an exemplary worker. She scanned her badge, smiling to the security guard as she walked through the doors.

"Morning, Phillip," she greeted him. He tipped his hat in her direction kindly.

"Morning, Ms. Cooper," he said. Betty smiled.

"Phillip, if I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times: you can call me Betty, she replied. He nodded once.

"Apologies Ms.-Betty," he corrected himself, and she grinned, eyes twinkling. Once she had reached him, she reached int her bag, pulling out two tacos wrapped in tinfoil. While being a doting wife, Clarissa wasn't much of a cook. Betty tried her best to help out whenever she could. Phillip's eyes crinkled as he smiled, reaching for the tacos she was offering to him.

"You spoil me, Betty," he chuckled.

"Don't tell anyone here, but I think you're my favorite," she whispered.

"It'll be our little secret," he winked jovially.

She laughed, before tilting her head towards the elevators. "I should get to my cubicle."

He nodded. "Have a good day, Betty."

"Bye, Phillip," she smiled warmly at him, before continuing on her way. Phillip, in more ways than one, was something like a grandfather to Betty. Not having met either of hers', she had taken to Phillip like a duck to water. He was kind and gentle; sweet and caring. Add into the mix that he was always at work with an ever-present smile, and she was just glad to know he was their security guard.

Once the elevator dinged and Betty stepped out and onto her floor, she noticed at once that she wasn't the only early person. She smiled as she saw her friend, and colleague, Cheryl Blossom. Making her way towards her, she cleared her throat so she wouldn't startle the vivacious redhead.

"Morning, Cher," she said, and Cheryl looked up, grinning.

"Hey, Betty," she said. "I didn't think you'd be in this early."

"Hark who's talking," Betty said, eyebrows raising. Cheryl laughed.

"Ah, you caught me. I was at Teresa's last night, and considering her apartment is further from the office than mine, I just left extremely early," Cheryl admitted, and Betty rolled her eyes fondly.

"So, things still going well with you and T?" Betty asked, shrugging out of her jacket.

"Yeah, they're gr- Betty, what's that?" Cheryl interrupted herself.

"What's what?" Betty asked.

"That," Cheryl said, pointing her finger at the junction where Betty's neck and shoulder met for emphasis. Glancing down, Betty was startled to see a faint fingerprint wrapped around the junction. She shrugged.

"Nothing," she said easily. Cheryl didn't look convinced.

"Betty," she began, but Betty interrupted her.

"Do you know if the boss is going to want the meeting to happen today?" Betty asked, looking at Cheryl pointedly. She got the hint and dropped the subject with a sigh, before shrugging.

"I don't know. I think so? He said yesterday that he wanted you and I to especially be in on the meeting as we go to print next week," she replied. Betty nodded.

"That's what I thought," she agreed.

As the two women continued to talk, more and more of their colleagues began to trickle into the office. It wasn't until ten to eight did her boss walk in. Eyes glancing around, they landed on Betty and Cheryl, and he made his way towards them.

"Betty, Cheryl. Good morning," he said.

"Good morning, Jughead."

"Good morning, Mr. Jones."

Betty felt herself flush under the look her boss gave her.

"Betty, I've told you: it's Jughead. Mr. Jones is my father," he said, and she nodded. Five years with her company, and she still wasn't comfortable calling her boss by his first name. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks tinted red.

"Sorry, Mr. – Jughead," she amended, mentally rolling her eyes at her own awkwardness. Jughead just took it in his stride with a good-natured chuckle.

"There's fresh coffee in the break room and the meeting starts in ten. Please, help yourselves, ladies," he said, before ducking into his office. Betty could feel Cheryl's eyes on her and turned around.

"What?" Betty asked.

"Nothing," Cheryl replied innocently. Too innocently.

Betty narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "No, seriously, what?"

Cheryl laughed. "It's just you could fry an egg on your face."

Betty's eyes widened as her hands shot up to feel her inflamed cheeks. She cursed herself.

"Hush," she reprimanded weakly, hoping Jughead couldn't hear her.

"Does James make you blush like that?" Cheryl teased, and Betty swatted her friend's shoulder.

"Hush," she hissed, looking around to make sure they weren't within hearing range. Cheryl held up her hands in surrender, before nodding her head towards the break room.

"Let's get some coffee while it's still hot," she suggested, and Betty smiled. Better.

XXX

During the meeting, Betty typed out avid notes on her iPad. Much like the studious student she was in high school, Betty still had that burning desire to learn more ingrained into her. With a mother like Alice Cooper, she was quite certain that trait wasn't going to go anywhere anytime soon. Clearing the thoughts of her mother from her head, Betty refocused her attention back to the task at hand: making sure she had a perfect copy of notes from the meeting. While detesting that word on principal alone, Betty knew that it didn't hurt to have understandable notes.

When the meeting finally ended, Betty saved her notes before locking her iPad and slipping it back into her purse. As her fellow colleagues trickled out, she followed them, same intention in mind, when Jughead stopped her.

"Betty, a word if you will?" Jughead asked, and she paused, looking at him over her shoulder curiously before nodding and walking back towards him.

"Yes, Mr. Jones?" Betty asked, stifling a laugh when he raised an eyebrow. "I mean, yes, Jughead?"

He nodded, seemingly satisfied. "I wanted to talk to you about your piece on the city's orphanage."

She blinked, feeling disappointment swirling around in her stomach. She licked her lips. "Oh. D-Did you not like it?"

Jughead was quick to shake his head. "Quite the opposite, actually. The way you went after the workers at the orphanage, getting to the root of the problem? It's a true sign of a wonderful journalist."

Betty felt pleasure bloom in her chest at the compliment. She had spent the better part of three months hunting down workers for the orphanage, demanding interviews. She threatened legal action when some of the ill-tempered ones refused; something she was still going to bring to the table but they didn't need to know that just yet.

"Thanks, Jughead," Betty smiled softly, touched at his kind words.

"it makes me wonder how you had the tenacity to stay strong while they were undoubtedly threatening you," he commented, quirking an eyebrow at her. Two very long, very tiresome weeks at a place called Sisters of Quiet Mercy back in her hometown darted through her mind. It was during the height of her mother's true controlling mannerisms. Swallowing a shudder, she shrugged.

"I just do what it takes to get a story that needs to be published, well, published," she replied.

He appraised her for a moment, before humming thoughtfully.

"I have another story for you, if you're interested," he said. She looked at him curiously.

"Shouldn't Cheryl or Veronica take this, since they're the juniors to you?" Betty wondered, but again, he smiled at her.

"I'm not asking them. I'm asking you, Betty," he said. Automatically, she curled her fingernails in, a tell-tale sign she was distressed, before taking a moment to practice her yoga breathing her therapist had taught her at her first session with her. Once she had control of herself, she smiled at Jughead.

"That sounds wonderful. What story is it?" Betty asked, pushing aside the guilt she felt for getting the story over Cheryl momentarily. Jughead grinned.

"Excellent. It's an article I want published about battered women. Obviously, we can't have you interviewing any women in a shelter, but I have a few potential possibilities for interviews if you'd like to hear…" he said, but Betty was tuning him out. Investigating battered women? Was she really the best option for this? She thought about her mother, who always abused her verbally; then she thought about James who got a little too intense after drinking but…. well, wasn't that normal? And he always made it up to her by bringing home flowers the next evening or taking her out to a fancy dinner. And the few times he had slapped her around were miniscule compared to what horrors true victims faced every day.

"…I was thinking I can introduce you to one of my friends, and…Betty, you alright?" Jughead asked, and she blinked, realizing she had yet to tell him if she was interested. She nodded her head.

"Yeah, yes. I'm fine. This sounds great, Jughead. I'll do it," she murmured, and he studied her for a moment. She kept her face carefully blank, and he smiled a moment later.

"Great. I'll set you up with my friend. Her name is Toni. She should be good at laying a solid foundation for you to build your interviews on," Jughead promised, and Betty nodded.

"Great. That sounds great," she replied, smiling as she pushed aside her other, more annoying thoughts.

"Alright. We'll start you tomorrow then, shall we?" Jughead asked. "I'll have Toni meet you at the coffee house down the street."

Betty, again, nodded. (Could she do anything else?)

"Alright, that works for me. I can meet her there by eight, if that's alright?" Betty asked, and Jughead chuckled.

"She won't like it, but she'll be there," he promised, and Betty frowned, suddenly feeling like she was putting his friend through a lot of trouble.

"Oh. Oh, I can change the time…," she trailed off as Jughead quickly shook his head.

"Eight is fine," he assured.

"Alright," she murmured, and he sent her on her way.

XXX

By the time Betty got home that evening, it was later than she anticipated, meaning dinner was going to be nowhere near ready by the time James got home. That was, if he wasn't home already. A small sigh escaped her lips as she unlocked their door, kicking her heels off by their coatrack.

"And, here was me thinking you ran off with your editor," James's voice was right next to her ear, hand squeezing the back of her neck ever so slightly. It wasn't enough to cause alarm but she could already smell the stench of alcohol on his breath and thought she'd be better off not risking provoking him further. She tried to turn in his grasp but he tightened his grip, keeping her facing the wall.

"James, sweetheart, I'm sorry," she murmured. "The editor did look over my work, told me it was good. But I have even better news."

"Yeah? What's better than a well-earned apology about why my damn dinner isn't ready?" James whispered. Betty licked her lips.

"I got a new job offer by my boss, Jug-Mr. Jones," she said, catching herself last minute. James absolutely detested when people in authority acted like a friend and not a boss. Especially men.

"Hmm, did you now?" James asked. "And, what might that be?"

Betty licked her lips again, debating on telling him everything or editing a bit. She went with the second option.

"I'm going to interview women who have had some hard times in their lives and make an article out of it," she said.

"Maybe you should interview your mom," James suggested, finally letting go of her neck in favor of downing the rest of his whisky that was in his other hand. Betty turned to look at him, carefully calculating if he was serious or not. But then, she spotted the hazy look in his eyes, and knew he'd be too drunk to remember this conversation in the morning, so dropped it altogether. What was the point of demanding to know why he sympathized with her mother when he wouldn't even be able to stand his ground?

"I'll go make dinner," she said quietly.

"Good girl," James praised her.

Betty exhaled a sigh of relief as he walked passed her and into his den, undoubtedly on the hunt for another drink. She was in for a long night.

Author's note: Feedback welcomed!