[ As usual, Archie can't figure out exactly what Cheryl's motivation had been. But she'd plunked down and gleefully dragged out Archie's secret for Veronica's benefit. It serves him right for not telling Veronica in the first place but he'd thought—
Well, he doesn't really know what his plan had been. Veronica turning up on his doorstep had felt like a dream. Archie hadn't even figured out what had happened in the car with Betty himself at that point. He didn't have the first clue about how to start admitting what happened to Veronica. He'd thought, maybe just give them Christmas Day before he tried to admit what happened to her. Wedging it in under the mistletoe had felt impossible.
And if he's honest, he'd chickened out. He'd tried but every time he'd opened his mouth, he'd gotten cold feet. Now the truth's out, in the worst way possible. Veronica doesn't have to tell him anything. She's curled in on herself, silently rebuffing any attempts at physical contact. She'd barely looked at him before now. Archie's still at a loss, but he knows that I don't know isn't going to cut it any more than I tried will. But he doesn't have anything else. It's the truth, as much as the recitation of events Cheryl had laid for them had been. ]
It wasn't like that, Veronica. It wasn't.
[ Cheryl had made it sound salacious, almost. It hadn't felt that way when they'd been enclosed in the car together. Betty had been spinning out and Archie had wrenched her back on track. And then— ]
I wanted to tell you. I tried so many times but I just couldn't... [ Archie hesitates, watching her face, before finishing lamely, ] I didn't know how.
[The wound is fresh enough that even if Veronica wanted to do something about it, she knows that she couldn't. She can't even look at him. Some part of her wants to raise hell and rain fury down on Betty and Archie's heads, but the other part of her can't bring herself to do it. She loves the two of them too much. Even when Betty had gone all Benedict on her, she couldn't bring herself to retaliate. A few snide remarks wasn't retaliation as far as Veronica was concerned.]
Were you not able to tell me because it meant something? Because ... honestly, Archie. That's the only way where this makes any sense. [Veronica doesn't know if she wants it to have meant something. Is it fair to throw Archie's inability to piece something together in his face when she needed time to handle his "I love you" remark?
And she still knows that a part of her confession was due to needing that goodness in her life. Suddenly feeling as if she had lost all of that made her want it back. She knew that how she defined goodness was Archie. And no one else.]
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Well, he doesn't really know what his plan had been. Veronica turning up on his doorstep had felt like a dream. Archie hadn't even figured out what had happened in the car with Betty himself at that point. He didn't have the first clue about how to start admitting what happened to Veronica. He'd thought, maybe just give them Christmas Day before he tried to admit what happened to her. Wedging it in under the mistletoe had felt impossible.
And if he's honest, he'd chickened out. He'd tried but every time he'd opened his mouth, he'd gotten cold feet. Now the truth's out, in the worst way possible. Veronica doesn't have to tell him anything. She's curled in on herself, silently rebuffing any attempts at physical contact. She'd barely looked at him before now. Archie's still at a loss, but he knows that I don't know isn't going to cut it any more than I tried will. But he doesn't have anything else. It's the truth, as much as the recitation of events Cheryl had laid for them had been. ]
It wasn't like that, Veronica. It wasn't.
[ Cheryl had made it sound salacious, almost. It hadn't felt that way when they'd been enclosed in the car together. Betty had been spinning out and Archie had wrenched her back on track. And then— ]
I wanted to tell you. I tried so many times but I just couldn't... [ Archie hesitates, watching her face, before finishing lamely, ] I didn't know how.
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Were you not able to tell me because it meant something? Because ... honestly, Archie. That's the only way where this makes any sense. [Veronica doesn't know if she wants it to have meant something. Is it fair to throw Archie's inability to piece something together in his face when she needed time to handle his "I love you" remark?
And she still knows that a part of her confession was due to needing that goodness in her life. Suddenly feeling as if she had lost all of that made her want it back. She knew that how she defined goodness was Archie. And no one else.]