22 (spy) for the prompts! <3
Spies AU (from a fic idea Iāve always wanted to write but donāt know if I ever will)
āI donāt want to hear it, Agent Jones. This is your assignment and I expect you to follow orders as theyāve been given to you,ā General Tateās voice echoes over the speakers, deep and warm despite the firmness of his tone. Jughead can feel his features rearranging themselves into a slightly less-severe version of the scowl he is wearing as he resists the urge to scuff his shoe against the floor like a chastised child. He can feel the Generalās eyes boring into his forehead from the screen, looking down as he is to hide the hurt he knows will be floating to the surface. Hurt that his superior will see straight away.
General Terrance Tate, codename āPopā, had (very fittingly) been something of a paternal figure for Jughead ever since heād been recruited by the CIA at only seventeen. Well, he supposes that the General that arrested your ganglord father and saved you from a path you were looking for a way off anyway is better than no one. And while he hadnāt exactly been entirely warm to the idea of working for the government at the time, even he has to admit that this jobāthis lifeāhas saved him in more ways than can be counted. Not the least of which is the man currently shaking his head on screen despairingly.
āLook, sonā¦ā Pop begins, steepling his fingers on top of his desk. āI know itās a little close to homeāā
Wrong, Jughead wants to interrupt. It is home. It is almost exactly home. Although, if he were being honest, nothing about it ever felt particularly homey during his youth. Nevertheless, there was something close to sentiment attached to that place that no amount of training could ever get him to shake. But even that still didnāt change the fact that out of all the impossible situations heād been placed in as an agent, this was the first time heād wanted to flat out refuse orders.
āābut thereās no denying youāre the best man for the job. Youāre familiar with the area, you know the people there.ā
āExactly! I know them, and they know me. The risk of being comprised for this mission surely outweighs the knowledge that I could easily pass onto another agent in a single afternoon,ā Jughead half-pleads. He can hear how desperate he sounds, losing his cool in front of his superior and making himself sound like an idiot. He can hear it, but that doesnāt stop him.
āNevertheless, the higher-ups believe it to be an asset and have chosen you. Therefore, it is you who will be on the plane to Riverdale by six oāclock this evening.ā Pop has switched to his official, General voice, and Jughead knows anymore arguing is a lost cause. He has too much respect for the man before himāalmost to his detriment.
āYes, General,ā he replies robotically, looking past Popās eyes into the pixels of the screen instead.
Pop sighs, a weary exhale, but continues on. āYour partner will meet you once you land at JFK and sheāll give you your brief then.ā
That startles him out of his sulk. āPartner?ā
āYou didnāt think youād be going in alone, did you? Thereās evidence that the Fizzle Rocks supplier for the entire eastern half of the country is operating out of Riverdale. Weād hardly be likely to send you in by yourself.ā Jughead feels his face heat. āNo, youāll be working together, and acting as each otherās cover while youāre in town.ā
A distant beep sounds from Popās end of the line. āThatāll be all.ā He pauses, dark eyes searching. āGood luck, Jughead.ā
Jughead stumbles through arrivals with the kind of brain fog unique to being on a long flight. Bleary eyes search the gate for any sign of his greeter.
It doesnāt take long to spot JONES, written in neat, bold, block letters, but when he does all remnants of sleep clear immediately.
His eyes follow the hands clutching the poster board, along the arms clad in a powder blue sweater, up towards a prominent chin, appled cheeks, a slick blonde ponytail andā āBetty?ā
Time turns itself back a decade in the space of ten seconds. Green eyes blink, once, twice. āJughead.ā Ten years since heād last heard his name in that voice. āItās good to see you.ā His stomach flips and heās seventeen again.
Betty Cooper looks exactly as she used toāexactly as she does, in every memory Jugheadās kept of her. Of which there are many. Her hair is a golden blonde, secured tightly in a prim ponytail. Her lips are full, her body slender. Sheās wearing a sweater and jeans he couldāve sworn she owned in high school, and her shoulders are pulled back in the way he used to see her do whenever she was approaching a situation with full force. Heās not sure whether the fact that he now appears to be the situation should make him laugh or frown.
The only difference, that Jughead can see, is the smile sheās giving him in greeting. Where once before there was the easy warmth that came with a whole youth of friendship thereās now the guarded, sterile quirk of the mouth that eerily reminds him of Bettyās mother.
With that final thought heās catapulted back to the present, something cold and uncomfortable in his stomach, and the reminder that a lot has changed since he was seventeen.
āYeah, you too,ā he manages to get out finally, a little crease between her brows alerting him to the fact heās been quiet too long. āAre youā¦ā Heās not quite sure if coming straight out and asking your old high school crush if sheās a secret agent in the middle of a busy airport follows protocol but, in fairness, the CIA never equipped him for this situation. Jughead swallows thickly. āAre you, umāā
āYour ride?ā Betty finishes for him, something else hidden in the look she sends him. āYes. Follow me.ā With that she reaches for the handle of his suitcase and pulls it behind her as she heads for the exit, leaving Jughead to trail dazedly behind.
