They’d woken up at some ungodly hour to get to the airport in time for their flight. Betty insisted on having enough extra time that they would be able to look through the shops inside the terminal, and when Jughead asked her why she needed three hours to look through less than ten stores, she tilted her head and regarded him with puzzlement.
“For security, of course,” she said, her brows drawing together. “You never know how long that will take. There might be a long line.”
That was the exact instant that it really sank home for her--Jughead had never flown before. She’d gone to California for an internship her Sophomore year of high school, by herself, so she thought nothing about booking the flight overseas. He’d just blinked in response to her matter-of-fact statement and said nothing but, “Oh.”
She began to suspect that he might have been nervous when she threaded her hand through his after they’d checked their large bags and picked up their boarding passes. Betty had been deeply attuned to all things Jughead for years, and his slightly sweaty palms were a fair indication that some sort of strenuous mental process was taking place below that fringe of raven hair that seemed destined to always fall over his eyes.
The next sign came when he somewhat obsessively checked his passport, license, and boarding pass for the fourth time, making sure that all the names were alike, and none of the issuing agencies had forgotten to put “the third” after his full name.
Betty looked down at her passport, license, and boarding pass a few times too, but for a wholly different reason. Every time she saw the name Elizabeth Jones typed officially across each one, her stomach seemed to be taking flight without the rest of her body, and a huge smile spread across her face.
When the gate agent asked Jughead to put his carry-on bag on the conveyor belt, he said, “Why?”
She gave him a look as she set her belongings in the plastic bins, slipping off her shoes and dropping them onto the conveyor belt too. As the agent glared at Jughead with an expression that clearly read Just do it and stop asking questions, he gave in and did as he was told. Betty went through the metal detector first, stepping out and retrieving her shoes from the end of the scanner.
Jughead was selected to be patted down--because of course he would be after having an attitude with the gate agent--and Betty waited calmly while he complied with the check. He even joked with her that they’d gotten the wrong Jones, and his dad had already gotten used to that sort of thing when he was in prison, so Betty laughed in an effort to dispel any of the nerves she was strongly suspecting he was hiding, even though she didn’t find it funny.
They wandered through the terminal after locating their gate. She bought a cafe americano from Starbucks and a pair of soft neck pillows from a convenience store, wrapping one around Jughead and snapping it in place over his collar. He bought a new crime novel, and she found a perfectly dreadful romantic mystery to pass the time they’d spend on their international flight.
When they were called back to their gate for boarding, Betty took Jughead’s hand again. Based on the exponential increase of palm sweat, she was at that point absolutely certain that he was terrified.
As they took their seats, Betty asked Jughead if he wanted to sit by the window.
He paled. “No, you can, Betts,” he said, his tone pinched.
She took her seat and looked over at him with concern, placing one hand on his knee and turning herself to face him. “It’s going to be okay, Jug,” she said reassuringly. “I’ve flown before. These things are really safe--crashes happen in the movies.”
“You’re not helping,” he muttered, looking up at the ceiling as a businessman put a case in their overhead bin. “What if that’s a bomb?”
Betty rolled her eyes and said quietly, “It’s not, Jug, you saw how much security there was. You’re fine. We’re fine. Just try to relax--maybe you can sleep.”
He laughed shortly. “Right, and I’ll wake up when the plane is in flames and we’re plummeting into the ocean. No, thanks.”
She sighed. “Maybe you can read?” she suggested hopefully, sliding back into her chair and opening the front cover of her new novel.
Jughead pressed his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. “Unlikely,” he said, one hand squeezing the top of her leg. She let him do it, even though it was a little more pressure than she found comfortable.
As the stewardess explained the safety precautions, Jughead watched the demonstration and Betty watched him. She saw each time that his eyes widened slightly as the flight crew ran over all the possible emergency scenarios and safety equipment that might be necessary on the plane. By the time they were buckling their safety belts and turning off their phones, his fingers were digging deeply into her leg and she was squirming away from his hand.
“Jug,” she said, slipping her hand beneath his. “It’s fine. Pretend we’re on a bus. Close your eyes if you have to.”
He shook his head, threading his fingers between hers. “I can’t,” he said simply, eyes glued to the window.
As the plane taxied around the airport and took its place on the runway, Betty gave up trying to read and looked out the window, too. She felt Jughead squeezing her hand firmly as the plane sped forward, waiting for the feeling of brief weightlessness that she knew would come as soon as they lifted off. Jughead made a small noise in the back of his throat as the world fell away outside the window, and Betty looked over at him again in concern.
“See?” she said. “Nothing to worry about.”
Betty went to open her book, but Jughead quickly placed his hand on it instead. “Betts—can you just hold on a little while?” he asked, when she looked over at him curiously.
Looking like he was sitting in the dentist’s chair, or perhaps waiting to be called into the principal’s office, Jughead’s eyes met hers imploringly. Betty covered his hand with hers and said, “Of course, Jug, whatever you need.”
They stayed that way while the plane leveled out. She could feel the tension starting to leave him as his fingers eased against hers, his chest rising and falling as he took several measured breaths. Finally, he glanced over at her and said, “Thanks, Mrs. Jones. Thank you for understanding.”
She smiled and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “As long as we both shall live,” she replied happily, squeezing his fingers in hers.
