All your comments make me SO GIDDY❤️ Thank you to everyone who has kept up so far! I've had a crazy year, but I'm happy to be back on my writing game. (Yes, this story is not dead—surprise!)

As predicted, FBI was already on the scene. Yellow caution tape blocked access to the end of the hallway, and two FBI agents stood guard outside of the penthouse suite.

When they approached the yellow tape, one of them was quick to stop them. "I'm sorry ma'am, but this area is closed off. You're not allowed in here—"

"Oh, no, I understand! It's just, um—" Betty turned up her "frightened-girl" charade, looking at the agent with wide eyes. In a shaky voice, she whispered, "I was here when it happened."

Now that bit deserved an Oscar, Jughead thought, impressed.

The blonde-haired man frowned, looking her over briefly before glancing suspiciously at Jughead. "Who's he?"

Jughead and her shared a look. He's her...what?

He began to answer with, "I'm her—" But Betty cut him off with "—chauffeur!"

Chauffeur? Jughead bit his tongue in annoyance. She did NOT...

"Yes! He's my driver...although he really should stay back in the car," Betty emphasized, looking at him pointedly, and he narrowed his eyes in response.

"In that case, we'd like to take your statement inside, miss," the agent said to her, lifting the yellow caution tape and gesturing inside the penthouse.

Betty's face lit up. "Why, of course! Thank you…" She glanced down at his shirt, reading his nametag. "...Charles."

Jughead started to duck under the yellow tape after Betty, but Charles stopped him. "Not you," he said, sternly. "Just the lady."

Betty caught Jughead's glare of disapproval and tilted her head in amusement. The edges of her lips twitched as she fought off laughter. "Go fetch the car!" she suggested with a wink, and his temper flared at her dismissal. "Warm it up for me!"

That little...

"Bitch!" The back doors of the van slammed angrily as a cursing Jughead climbed in.

"What the hell? Where is Betty?" Kevin asked, looking back at him from the driver's seat.

"She's giving a statement to the fucking FBI," he grumbled distastefully, slouching on the floor of the van.

"What?!" Kevin exclaimed, confused. "And you let her?"

"You think I wanted that?" he shot back, annoyed. "She introduced me as her 'chauffeur' and basically shooed me away, to—what was her words?—'fetch the car'."

"'Fetch the car?'" Kevin busted out a hearty laugh. "Jesus, man—Betty has been here for less than 24 hours and she's already managed to reduce you from alpha agent to servant boy."

Jughead reached over to thwack him in the back of the head. Idiot.

"Ow!" Kevin yelped, still laughing. "I'm just saying!"

"Yeah, well, don't." Jughead ran his hands over his face tiredly.

"Look at you, she's got you all wound up!"

"She does not!"

"She so does!" Kevin snickered.

"Can we focus, please?" Jughead said irately. "Betty's breaking protocol by being in FBI territory. If she doesn't get her intel we're in deep shit." And then he'll never get un-benched...

As if on cue, the back doors flew open. Betty appeared before them, waving the black device in her hand proudly. "Crisis averted—Go, go!" she called to Kevin, shutting the doors and settling across from Jughead.

"Damn, Cooper." Kevin let out a whistle, putting it in drive. "That was...fast."

Really fast, Jughead agreed silently, frowning at Betty suspiciously. "Did that Charles guy even take your statement?"

Betty let out a pfft. "Yeah, that was easy. I told him Alexander was a client. He bought the whole call girl story."

"And that?" He glanced at the device in her hands.

"I have sneaky hands," she said simply.

You certainly do, he thought, their elevator romp briefly crossing his mind.

"Not that sneaky," they heard Kevin mutter from up front.

"Sorry?" Betty asked.

"Nothing!"

"Keller..." Jughead warned.

"It's just—next time ya'll get down and dirty on a mission, turn your coms off, will ya?"

"Oh my god." Betty covered her face, mortified. "Kevin, you listened?!"

"It wasn't intentional, jeez! I cut the sound as soon as I could, I don't wanna hear you two doing the nasty."

"Well, there won't be a next time to worry about," Jughead insisted, looking hard at Betty. "Right, Betts?"

An expression he couldn't read flashed across her face, but she quickly collected herself and gave a firm nod. "Right. Of course not. That was…"

Hot? Surreal? Wild? Exhilarating?

His subconscious was getting carried away—Jughead mentally slapped himself. No! Stop that!

"A mistake," Betty finished.

"One that won't happen again," he agreed, locking his gaze with hers as if to seal the statement. It absolutely couldn't happen again.

"Never again."

"Never again? You both are full of shit," Kevin was whispering to Betty as they walked into tech ops.

"Shut. Up," she muttered. "It was a mistake—will you let it go?"

"Yeah, sure Betty." He smirked, sitting down at his station and powering on the computer. "I can't wait for my beer on Friday."

Her steps faltered as she approached his desk. "This does not count."

"Oh, so this isn't a crush?"

"Hell no!" she replied, louder this time. As far as she was concerned, Jughead was an aggressive, stubborn, arrogant piece of—

"Hell no what?" They both looked up as Jughead walked in with Alice.

"Nothing," Betty replied quickly, nudging Kevin extra hard with her elbow when he opened his mouth.

"Why don't I see intel on the screens, Keller?" Alice demanded, and he muttered a string of apologies as he jumped to work.

Moments later, Betty found herself getting pulled aside by her mother. "So Jughead tells me there was a little mishap with the mission?"

Anxiety hit Betty hard. Oh god, oh god, oh god, she knows. She knows I failed. She knows we had to turn back for the intel. Her fists clenched hard, only part of her vaguely aware of the nails digging into her palms. "I—I'm sorry, there was so much confusion and I tried to save the—"

"The asset," Jughead interrupted, suddenly appearing by Betty's side as she was about to say the phone. "She tried to save Alexander, but the shot killed him instantly. There was nothing more she could do except grab the phone and leave in the middle of the gunfire."

Betty glanced up at him, puzzled by his lie. That's not exactly the way it went.

At Jughead's remark, Alice regarded Betty with praise. "Well. As admirable as that is, we can't save them all, Elizabeth. You did the right thing, not leaving without the intel. Let's see why it was worth dying for," she nodded, stepping away to speak with Kevin.

"Why did you do that?" Betty hissed under her breath. "That's not how it happened."

"Are you trying to get suspended on your first day?" he whispered back, roughly grabbing her arm and pulling her further to the side. "It's completely against protocol to cross paths with the FBI. You got what Alice wanted—that's all that needs to be said."

It took a few seconds to process his words when she realized...he was covering for her? He searched her face, waiting for her to respond, when they suddenly heard Kevin mutter, "Uh oh."

Betty swiftly spun out of Jughead's grasp, hurrying to Kevin's side in a panic. "What do you mean 'uh oh'?" Every possible mistake ran through her mind. Did I grab the wrong device? Did I do the transfer wrong? Was it damaged in the gunfire?

Kevin read aloud a few titles as he scrolled through the documents. "I see reports on ISIS attacks throughout Europe, the Middle East…"

"Already got it," Alice said, eyes narrowing in disappointment as she followed along on the big screen.

"Okay…" Kevin scrolled. "Pan Am 103 bombing…"

"Old news."

"Putin's political aspirations as of last summer…"

"We already know that." Alice sighed, shaking her head. "This is all useless. Just take Ordinov off our threat lists, Keller. And Betty, type up a closer and put it on my desk by the end of the day.'

Alice handed her the case folder on her way out the door. Betty, however, was shocked. "Wait—that's it?"

"There's nothing else to do. Either Alexander was too stupid to know what good intel is, or he was trying to fool us. Either way—he's dead, we saved money, and we have one less threat to worry about. You did good work, Betty, but we're done." Alice gave her a short nod of approval before leaving them.

"I don't believe it. This can't be it," Betty said indignantly, turning back to the documents on the big screen.

"Sometimes things just don't work out how you expect," Kevin said, trying to ease her mind. "You should be happy! Your first mission was a success!"

Her mind briefly flashed back on the hotel room, recalling how it exploded with bullets. "So I almost died for nothing?" Frustrated, she turned to Jughead, who had been silently observing from the side of the room. "None of this seems wrong to you?"

"Of course it does. But there's nothing else we can do," he replied simply.

There's nothing else to do? Betty stormed out wordlessly, heading towards the break room. It was wrong, all of it. The entire case seemed off; she knew in her gut that something wasn't adding up.

"Hey."

She was staring hard into a glass of water when Archie entered the break room, interrupting her thoughts. "Oh, hey. What are you doing here?" Archie worked for the FP Jones, who was definitely more than a few floors up.

"Well I was here looking for Alice… and then I saw you storming out of tech ops. Thought you could use a friendly ear." He looked at her with a sympathetic smile. "Wanna vent about your first day?"

"Well, let's see…" Betty gave a dry laugh, looking down at the ground tiredly as she replayed the events of today in her mind. "I saw a person get killed today. I was shot at. I lied to a federal agent. I stole evidence from a crime scene…"

"So, basically, a typical day at the Agency," Archie joked. Betty rolled her eyes, but appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood. "Look..." He moved to lean on the counter next to her. "I wouldn't put too much weight on it. A lot of cases won't turn out how you think they will."

"But that's my point," Betty insisted. "I'm almost certain it all went wrong."

Archie looked at her curiously. "What makes you so sure?"

In about two minutes, Betty had given him a rapid-fire summary of what happened. By the end of it, he was looking at her with a confused expression. "Wait, so—you didn't get anything useful from Alexander?"

"No, the intel was a bust," Betty muttered. She crossed her arms and started to pace back and forth. "I just can't get over the irony of it all."

"What irony?"

"The way a top-ranked assassin gets himself assassinated?" Betty looked at him with an expression that said what the actual fuck. "Alexander was an experienced sniper. He should've known better than to stand next to an exposed window." She stopped pacing, coming to stand next to Archie. "I'm probably crazy for even thinking this, but...part of me wonders if we even had the right guy, you know?"

They stood in silence for a few seconds before Archie quietly said, "Maybe you're not as crazy as you think."

Betty looked at him, puzzled, and he reached into his back pocket to pull out a business card. He looked around briefly, as if to make sure they were totally alone, and then slid the card across the counter. "Let me tell you about this guy I know..."

Jughead was always on high alert whenever he saw Archie lingering around the DPD. He was never usually here, since he worked for the big guy upstairs. Archie's presence always meant something else was going on—and Jughead always had a hard time figuring out exactly what.

The first red flag went off in Jughead's mind when he saw Archie and Betty leaving the break room together. He waited until Betty returned to her desk before chatting her from his computer. So you met Golden Boy, huh?

From across the bullpen, he saw her frown at her screen. Who is this? she typed back.

Your favorite 'chauffeur', he replied sarcastically. Who else?

At this, he saw her look around the room until she found him. Jughead gave a salute with two fingers and she rolled her eyes, returning her attention to the computer. Har-har. Don't you have another van to babysit?

Don't you have a case to write up? he shot back.

Betty scowled, typing, You're right, it's a waste of time talking to you. She signed out immediately.

The second red flag came a few minutes later, when Jughead saw Archie stopping by Betty's desk. He leaned down to whisper something, and she said something earnestly in return. Archie then gave her a wink before heading for the exit.

When did they get so chummy? Jughead frowned, leaving his desk to run this by Kevin.

Andrews was a great agent, sure—but he did things differently under FP's control. With strict orders from Alice to help shape up Betty, he figured he should put this on Kevin's radar, too. They didn't need Andrews coming in and polluting her mind.

Jughead slid the glass doors shut behind him as he entered tech ops. "We might have a problem."

Kevin groaned loudly, spinning around in his chair to face him. "You always have a problem! We've had enough for today!"

"Andrews stopped by."

Kevin frowned. "Archie? I didn't know he was doing any cases with us."

"He's not." Jughead turned back to the window, observing the busy bullpen below. "And he paid a special visit to Betty. Very hush-hush."

"I mean, it's probably nothing. Why don't you ask her about it?"

Jughead scoffed, recalling how quickly she signed offline. "She's not exactly in a chatty mood."

Kevin started to list a few other ideas, but Jughead wasn't listening anymore. Through the window, he spotted Betty closing up, grabbing her coat, and quickly heading for the doors. That's...shady.

"Actually, you're right—I'll just ask her about it," Jughead lied smoothly, hurrying out of Kevin's office without a second glance.

"Jeez, you're welcome!" he heard Kevin shout after him.

Jughead had zero plans to ask her about it. He knew he wouldn't be able to stop her from wherever she was going.

So, he hopped on his bike and followed her car. All the way to…

The D.C. morgue?

Jughead watched from a distance as Betty lingered around one of the back entrances. What are you doing, Cooper?

She glanced around briefly, inching her way closer to the door. "Dammit," he muttered, eventually stepping out of his hiding spot. He knew that look; he's worn that look, before.

She was trying to break in.

Jughead approached her silently, getting close enough to peer over her shoulder at the biometric lock she was inspecting. He rolled his eyes; there was no way she was getting past that.

Just to be annoying, he leaned in extra close and said loudly into her ear, "Whatcha doin?"

Betty jumped about a foot, whirling around and shouting, "What the hell?! Where did you—"

"Let's go." He grabbed her by the elbow, dragging her away. "You're done here."

"Don't tell me what to do!" She pulled her arm back and angrily planted her feet. "Are you following me now?"

"Are you breaking into a morgue?" he fired back.

"I am not 'breaking in'—"

The door behind them suddenly opened and a man in a white coat strolled past them. "There he is!" he heard her whisper. Betty grinned and waved. "Excuse me! Sir!"

Jughead yanked her back to his side before she could walk away. "Betty—"

She glared at him and snapped quietly, "Just go with it!"

"Can I help you?" They both looked up as the man approached. The name Dr. Curdle was stitched onto the front of his lab coat.

"Yes!" Betty smiled brightly. She pulled out her phone, subtly wiping the screen clean behind her back before holding it out. "Would you mind taking a photo for us? We've been trying all afternoon to get a shot with the Capitol in the background." Betty gestured to the building behind them.

Dr. Curdle looked between the two of them uncertainly, but agreed. As he stepped back to frame the shot, Betty wrapped an arm around Jughead's waist, pinching him hard. "Ow!" he yelped.

"Sell it, asshole," she hissed through her grin. He forced a smile on his face just in time for the flash.

"Yay! Thank you so much!" Betty bounded forward happily and took her phone back. She waited for Dr. Curdle to disappear around the corner before making a beeline for the door again.

"Oh, come on." Jughead followed with an annoyed grumble. "This is too much for one day. We're leaving. Now."

He placed a hand on her shoulder, but she quickly shrugged it off with a stubborn, "Don't think so!"

He made a mental note to kick Archie's ass for planting this idea in her head. "Whatever you're doing isn't worth the jail time, Cooper."

"Sure it is," she insisted.

"Betty..." As he stepped closer, he saw her carefully pressing a thin piece of paper from her cellphone. Jughead laughed. "Paper? That's never gonna work."

"Of course it will," she mumbled, focusing intently on the paper she was peeling back. "See, it's not just any paper—it's oil blotting paper. I'm gonna take a wild guess and say you have no idea what oil blotters are?" Oil...blotters?

"Uh…"

"Thought so," Betty smirked. "They're designed to pick up the oils from your skin. And, if you're not sloppy with it..." She trailed off, holding the paper up to the light. A faint outline of a print could be seen. "...you won't smear the oils around."

She held the paper by the edges and carefully pressed it against the fingerprint scanner. It took a few seconds before they heard a loud buzz as the door unlocked. "Ha!" Betty smiled triumphantly, pulling it open.

"Hang on—" Jughead began to protest, but she interrupted him with an annoyed groan.

"Look, Jughead—I'm going in, whether you like it or not," she stated firmly. "Either help me, or go."

They stared at each other for several seconds before she gave a frustrated huff and threw the door open, heading inside.

Jughead swore under his breath, debating his options for several seconds. This woman is going to be my downfall, he thought tiredly, barely catching the door before it closed shut.

Ordinov...Ordinov… Where the hell was he?

Betty easily found the room where the bodies were kept. There were dozens of cold chambers, each metal door labeled with the name of the person inside.

But none of them was Alexander.

"His body won't be labeled, yet."

Betty looked up in surprise, not expecting to see Jughead in the doorway. "You followed me," she stated, dumbfounded.

He raised an eyebrow. "We've established that..."

"I mean, you came—you didn't leave," she replied, still confused. "Why?"

"Because you're clearly getting yourself into trouble." Jughead surveyed the body chambers as he entered the room. "And also because Andrews sent you here."

"I'm not getting myself—" Betty stopped with a frown. "Wait, what makes you think Archie sent me here?"

"Archie tends to stick his nose where it doesn't belong," Jughead replied. "He doesn't think with his head. So whatever he told you to do, ignore it."

"He didn't tell me to do anything," she said stubbornly, returning her gaze to the wall in front of her. She didn't like what he was implying—as if she simply just 'obeyed.' Betty Cooper ran her own life—she didn't just take orders willy nilly. "Let me be clear: I'm here for myself. I just wanted to check out Alexander's body."

"Seriously? His body?" Jughead looked at her in disbelief. "What—you didn't get a good enough look when he lost his robe earlier?

"Ew!" Betty cringed at the memory. "And no!"

"Oh, wait. I get it now." He suddenly grinned. "You're a necrophiliac."

"Jughead!" she exclaimed, horrified.

He held up his hands in defense. "It's okay if you are! I'm not judging!"

"Oh my god, Jug—I'm not!" Betty was shaking her head in vigorous denial. "I just need to see if he has any tattoos."

"Tattoos?" She had his full attention now.

"Yeah, you know—something that would tie him back to that prison he was in." Betty knew from her research that all Black Dolphin prisoners had tattoos that indicated the crimes they committed. The more detailed the tattoo, the more brutal the crime, the more respect they got from prison mates. For a top-ranked assassin like Alexander, he should have several.

Jughead looked at her thoughtfully as he considered her answer. "Well, like I said, he won't be labeled. He wouldn't have used his real name at the hotel." At the very corner was one metal door labeled John Doe. Jughead grabbed the handle and pulled, rolling out the body on the table inside. "This your guy?"

Betty lifted the sheet from the body, instantly recognizing Alexander's face. "Yup, that's him..." She carefully inspected his arms and neck, and then used the sheet to lift his shoulders just enough to expose his back.

Fuck. She dropped his body onto the table with a heavy THUD, stepping back with a worried look on her face. "Jug..."

"What?" Jughead leaned in for a closer look. "None?"

"Clean as a Boy Scout."

He did a second check of the body, just to be sure. "And you're certain this is the man you met in the penthouse?"

Betty tugged the sheet down just enough to reveal the gunshot wound in his chest. No way she could forget that. "Definitely." She subconsciously touched her cheek, as if trying to wipe away the memory of Alexander's blood splattering across her face.

"Well…" Jughead pulled the sheet back over the body. "I guess it's good you didn't write up that case report."

"And how would you know if I did it or not?" Betty placed her hands on her hips defensively, annoyed at his accusation (but more annoyed that he was right).

"Because it's a bitch to write and take a couple of hours, at the very least. You spent a grand total of five minutes at your computer before you took off."

Observant little fuck. Betty dropped her hands and let out a defeated sigh. "Okay, fine, so I didn't do it—so what?"

"So good. Because you were right earlier." He was looking at her so seriously, she was scared to break eye contact. "This isn't it; we're not done."

"We're not done," she repeated meekly, mildly distracted by his eyes. They were stunningly bright—are they green?

"You never really met Alexander." Nope. Blue, definitely blue.

"Which means…he's still out there," she added, finally refocusing. Her anxiety started to flare up as the severity of the situation finally hit her.

She never met the real assassin. They got sent on a wild goose chase that got an innocent man killed—and for what? Why?

The sudden flash of bright red lights and blaring roar of the building's alarm cut through her thoughts, making her jump.

Betty cursed and Jughead moved to shove John Doe back into his compartment. "Time to go," he said, slamming the metal door shut. "Head out the back!"

It was like a scene out of The Breakfast Club—the two of them sprinting down the halls, turning suddenly, and changing directions when they heard security coming their way.

They eventually made it to a different back exit, but emerged only to find a group of FBI agents waiting outside. Led by the one and only—

"Charles!" Betty squeaked in surprise, spotting the blonde agent at the front of the pack. Shit, shit, shit.

"You?" Charles looked at her, confused. "Didn't I just take your statement a few hours ago?"

"Oh, was that me?" She gave him a sheepish smile, playing dumb. "I don't really remember—I've had a busy day, honestly."

"Really busy," Jughead chimed in, stepping forward and placing his hand on her lower back. He was nudging her slightly towards the street. She just barely heard him whisper, "Tell him nothing."

"Crazy busy," Betty emphasized to Charles, following Jughead's lead. "Well, it was nice seeing you…"

"I don't think so," Charles said, stepping forward. With a single nod, two agents grabbed and cuffed them. "You two aren't going anywhere."

Charles knew when he was being played. But with Jughead and Betty, he just couldn't figure out why. So, he kept them in two separate interrogation rooms, until he could sort it all out.

"How is it that you were at both of my crime scenes? In the same day?"

Betty smiled at him from across the table—but he could tell it was fake. "Fate's just throwing us together, huh?"

"I don't believe in fate," he said firmly.

"How about coincidences?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. "It's Betty, correct?"

"That's my name." She leaned forward and placed her chin in her hand, looking at him thoughtfully.

"Okay Betty...Why don't you start by telling me what you were doing at that morgue when the alarms went off?"

"I was working," she said simply.

He looked at her in disbelief. "You were...working?"

"Mmhm."

"At a morgue."

Another smile. "That's right."

Stumped, Charles pulled out his pocket notebook, reviewing his notes from her statement at the hotel. "Didn't you tell me you were a prostitute?"

Her expression suddenly changed, her eyes flashing as she said, "I thought I told you we didn't like that term."

He flipped a page, referencing a few more notes. "Right…Call girl," he corrected.

Betty gave him a tight smile. "That's better."

"So, how exactly does that 'line of work' place you at a morgue?" Charles looked at her smugly. Gotcha, he thought confidently. Can't talk your way out of this one!

"Well…" Betty pursed her lips, thinking for a few seconds. "You know my friend you're holding in the next room?" Charles nodded. "Let's just say...he's a client of mine."

"A client," he repeated doubtfully.

"That's him."

Charles suddenly got up, irritated. "Mind if I check this with your friend?"

"Client," Betty corrected with the wave of her finger. Smartass. "But, sure, go right ahead!"

"Yeah, I'm a client of hers." Jughead gave Charles a cocky smirk from across the table. "So what?"

Charles was getting more confused and frustrated by the second. "Didn't you say you were her chauffeur?"

"When did I say that?"

"At the damn hotel," he almost growled.

"Oh that. Well, what did you expect? Her work's not exactly legal. She wasn't about to expose one of her regular clients to a Fed. I pay her good money to keep our business quiet."

Charles narrowed his eyes at him, getting up slowly and excusing himself from the room.

"What do you mean you've met 'too many times'?" Charles demanded.

"As in a lot," Betty explained slowly, looking at him like he was dumb. "He's a regular of mine. So, yeah, we meet—often. He pays me well, and I keep things hush-hush. That's our deal."

Charles stared at her, astounded at how her story perfectly aligned with Jughead's. He still didn't buy it, but they were spouting the same exact shit. He was struggling to catch them in a lie.

"You still haven't told me why you were there," Charles pressed on. "At the morgue."

She hesitated for a few seconds and he thought, finally! "Mmm, I don't know if I should say. It's sort of...personal, for my client," she eventually said. "I don't think he'd appreciate me telling you all of his dirty little secrets."

Charles let out a slow breath, trying to keep calm. "Look, Betty...I still might be able to protect you from a trespassing charge. But you've gotta come clean first. Just tell me why you were there," he said gently, deciding to try a softer approach. "I won't be upset. I just want an answer."

Betty looked amused. "You might be a little upset..."

"I won't," he insisted. "Just tell me."

"Okay, well—since you asked..." She kept the same amused smile on her face as she said, "I guess you could say my client has a...fetish."

"I—what?"

"It's called necrophilia, Charles." Jughead scoffed. "Can you spell it?"

Charles stared at Jughead like he grew a third eye. "You're not serious."

"I'm dead serious. No pun intended." Jughead looked at him, bothered. "Wait, are you judging me right now?"

"I'm not—"

"Because I'm feeling pretty judged."

"I'm really—"

"I mean, I just can't help how I am, you know?" Jughead turned his eyes upward as he dramatically said, "I was born this way! I can't help it if I have an attraction to dead—"

"Stop!" Charles threw both his hands up in frustration. "Please, god, stop. I get the picture."

Jughead stayed silent for a few seconds before quietly adding, "Betty's really quite accommodating about the whole thing—"

"Not. Another. Word." Charles held up a finger in warning and Jughead shut up with a sly grin. The loud ringing of Charles' phone cut through the following silence, saving them both from continuing this awkward conversation.

Charles burst back into Betty's room with newfound anger. "You know what I think?"

"What's that?"

"I think you're both spooks."

"Spooks?" She looked at him with big, innocent eyes. "Like, ghosts?"

"Like Langley," he clarified harshly, silently praying that she'd break under his gaze.

But she didn't even squirm. "I told you: I'm nothing more than a simple call girl."

"Then why did I just get a call from my boss's boss," Charles exclaimed, "Someone I've never spoken to in my entire life—demanding the release of you two idiots?"

"Wow. I don't know what to tell ya." Betty shrugged and smiled brightly, adding with a wink, "Maybe your boss's boss is a 'special client', too."

Charles had no choice but to release them within the hour.

"You owe me one, Cooper," Jughead stated once they were finally outside again.

"Me?!" she exclaimed. "If it weren't for you, I would've been in and out within minutes."

He waved his arm, hailing a taxi cab to get them back to the morgue. "If it weren't for me, you never would have found your John Doe."

They argued in the cab for several minutes before Betty finally admitted defeat. "Okay, okay fine! You win. I owe you one."

"A big one," he stressed. "Do you have any idea what I had to say to get us out of there?"

"You?" Betty scoffed. "I had to pretend you were my client."

"And I had to pretend I was a necrophiliac!"

The cab driver gave them a strange look, clearing his throat loudly and turning the radio up.

"Jughead!" Betty laughed. "When I told Charles you had a fetish, you could've gone with any fetish—but you went for dead bodies?" she whispered through laughter.

"We were in a morgue!" Jughead groaned, tilting his head against the window of the car. "Forget it. We have bigger problems now, Cooper. Charles knew we were CIA."

She clenched her fists, nervous. "How long until Alice finds out?"

"Honestly? She probably already knows."

As if on cue, Betty's phone began to buzz, her mom's name shining angrily on her screen. "Speak of the devil…" She answered the call with a hesitant, "Hi, Mom—"

"ELIZABETH HAVE YOU LOST YOUR DAMN MIND?!"

Betty winced at her mother's loud screeching. "Mom—"

"Do you have any idea what I had to do to get you two out of FBI custody?!"

The cab driver suddenly cursed and slammed on the breaks, jolting the both of them into the backs of the seats in front of them. "What's with the heavy traffic, pal?" Jughead asked, annoyed. "The morgue is just up a few blocks."

The cabbie buried his hand into his horn before making a sharp turn. "They're setting up for that big event downtown, tonight. Looks like they're blocking a bunch of streets, so I have to go around."

Betty leaned forward curiously, holding her screaming mother away from her ear. "What event is this?"

"I don't know, lady, some fancy 'Leadership Summit' or whatever it's called." He honked his horn aggressively a few more times, urging the bumper-to-bumper traffic to move. "It's that annual event, with all those diplomatic fellas."

"Diplomats?" Betty looked at Jughead with wide eyes as realization hit her. "Jug, oh my god."

"What?"

"That's it! Oh my god, we need to go—sir, stop the car! Stop!"

The cabbie pulled over, cursing her out angrily as she and Jughead scrambled out of the car. "What the hell was that? We're almost back—Betty!"

He was calling after her, but she had already taken off down the street towards the morgue. "It's only a few blocks, it's faster if we run!"

"Why the hell are we running?!" Jughead yelled, jogging after her.

"ELIZABETH COOPER ARE YOU STILL LISTENING TO ME?" Betty forgot her mom was still on the phone. "GET YOUR ASS BACK TO MY OFFICE, NOW!"

"Sorrymomgottagocallyoubackbye!" Betty shouted into her phone, hanging up and cutting Alice off.

Jughead grabbed her arm, forcing her to slow down. "Jughead—"

"Explain," he insisted.

She let out a noise of frustration. They didn't have time to stop. "Alexander will be targeting someone at the Summit!" she explained quickly. "And if it's happening tonight, then we need to get there now, before someone else dies."

He took a few brief seconds to process her words before he quickly motioned forward. "Okay—okay, you have my attention. Let's go."

"Thank you!" she said in exasperation, breaking back into a run again but continuing to explain her theory. "It's a perfect plan, think about it! Alexander gets John Doe to take his place and then shoots him, faking his own death. That way he can sneak around the Summit, completely under the radar. Because who would be looking for someone that's supposed to be dead?"

"Fuck—and Alice already told Kevin to take Ordinov off of our threat list," Jughead added. He wouldn't be on anyone's radar, now.

"Exactly!" They turned the last corner and she let out a gasp, stopping dead in her tracks. "Where the hell is my car?!" she shouted. Her car was gone, no longer where she had parked it in front of the morgue.

Jughead simply laughed, pointing to the sign on the curb that said NO PARKING. VIOLATORS WILL BE TOWED. "That's what you get for listening to Andrews."

She stalked up to him furiously. "You have some nerve, laughing at me! That was our only ride—how the hell are we supposed to get to the Summit, now?"

He didn't even answer, just walked right up to a random motorcycle parked across the street.

"Jughead, no—we've broken enough laws today," Betty protested as he hopped on.

"And what laws are we breaking, now, exactly?"

"This is the very definition of grand theft auto—"

The roar of the motorcycle interrupted her, and Jughead looked at her smugly from the seat. "You were saying?"

"This is yours?" Betty looked at the bike uncertainly before her demeanor quickly shifted, turning angry as she recalled how they both ended up in the same place. "Wait a minute—you seriously hopped on this thing and followed me all the way from Langley? What the hell is wrong with you? Do you have any idea how stalker-ish that sounds? I swear to god, Jughead—"

He impatiently revved the engine, interrupting her with another loud roar of the bike. "Are you going to keep yelling, or do you want to hop on?" Betty's glare faltered as she looked the bike over once again, clearly uncomfortable. Jughead rolled his eyes. "We could always walk to the Summit. Or catch a bus. Or..." He smirked. "We could call your mom..?"

Betty groaned in defeat, shooting him an annoyed look. The thought of her raging mother was just the push she needed. "I'm only doing this because we have to," she stated, climbing on behind him.

He had that smug look on his face, again. "Sure you don't want to walk there?"

"Shut up," Betty muttered, clutching his leather-clad shoulders with a death grip. She was balancing herself on the very back of the seat, trying to figure out how to not press right up against him. After their way-too-frisky elevator ride, she wanted to place as much distance as possible between them.

"What are you, shy, now? Get over here, or you're gonna fall off." She yelped in surprise when grabbed her thighs and yanked her forward, effectively pressing her all the way up against his body. "Better."

Betty just grumbled, resting her chin on his shoulder and peering over at him with narrowed eyes. "Satisfied?"

Jughead looked amused. "Almost. I just need these—" he reached up to grab her hands, prying them away from his leather. "—to go right here." He dragged them down to his waist, tapping them lightly. "Now, relax."

"I'll relax if you go slow." He chose that moment to release the kickstand, and her eyes widened nervously as she felt the bike start to tilt dangerously towards the ground. "Slow! I said slow!"

"Okay, okay!" He chuckled. "I promise to go slow!"

"Good," she said, gripping his waist even tighter.

He revved the engine louder, pausing just long enough to call out, "Hey, Betty?"

"What?"

"I'm lying!" he shouted as he pulled away from the curb at full-speed.

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