Chapter Text
Late Fall, 1970
Daphne's POV
Daphne's chest feels like it cannot expand fully. She feels exactly how she did last night when she had that lung spasm. Only Shaggy and Scooby aren't here to get her through it. None of the gang are. Jenkins, her personal butler, picked her up from the police station not long after their interaction with Brad. Bucky had to pry Daphne from the arms of the gang. She dug her heels into the concrete floor of the cell, held onto the bars with white knuckles, and eventually went deadweight in the policeman's arms. She will not be part of the force that divides them.
Jenkins buckles her seatbelt when she's finally in the car. The ride back to the Blake mansion is silent.
"Your mother requests that you wait in the parlor. Your father, mother, and sisters will join you momentarily. Do you require anything, Miss. Blake?" Jenkins asks.
My family. A joint. Six one way tickets to Canada. "No, thank you." Daphne mumbles. "And it's Mrs. Jones now, Jenkins."
Daphne walks to the parlor and sits down on their beige couch. At her feet is their white carpet, and Daphne notices her boots have left small smears of dirt. She's still in her disguise. She remembers Velma's words when Daphne told her to stuff tissues down her bra. My mother would have a heart attack. Nan Blake is sure to have an aneurysm. None of the Blake girls wear dark colors. None of the Blake girls wear jeans, or even pants. None of the Blake girls wear leather. But Daphne's not a Blake. She's a Jones. Daphne Jones does what makes her happy. She runs into the face of danger with bows in her hair and a smile on her face.
Nan and Barty Blake walk into the parlor. Nan gasps as she lays eyes on Daphne. Barty puts a hand on her shoulder. Behind her are Daphne's older sisters. Delilah, the tallest of the girls, leads the charge. She's an intelligence officer for the U.S. Army. Behind her is Daisy, who always wears her white doctor's coat. Daphne can hardly blame her. Female doctors are so uncommon, if Daphne had made such an achievement, she would probably wear her coat everywhere too. Third in line is Dorothy, who must've flew in from her home in New York, where she runs her own business. Bringing up the rear is Dawn, who for once, doesn't have a baby on her hip or one growing inside her.
All four of them look so much like Daphne, and yet not at all. Daphne is hyperaware of how she must look to them. Sitting in their fancy parlor in their family mansion wearing clothes that the gang bought second hand. Her hair needs to be washed. Her nails are long and bare. There's dried mud on her shoes. She's gained maybe fifteen pounds since they last saw her and it shows on her face and hips. She knows that she must have the faintest scent of marijuana on her that their patchouli soap didn't cover up.
"Daphne Elizabeth Blake..." her mother whispers.
"Let me handle this, mother," Delilah says. Delilah sits across from Daphne in a beige arm chair that matches the couch. "Listen here, baby sis, we've been given some very shocking news about the time you spent AWOL." Delilah lays out some of their photos she had tucked in her green uniform.
"Don't sugarcoat it, Lilah. Your sister is a drug crazed sex fiend!" Nan yells out. She lights up a cigarette.
"That's one way to put it," Daisy inputs. "We should have you tested for... everything."
"Starting first with a pregnancy. So we know if we need to send her to a maternity home," Dawn suggests.
"I'm not pregnant," Daphne mumbles. Her face is on fire. "Freddy and I always--,"
"But what about you and Norville?" her mother buts in.
Daphne's brows knit together. "That would never happen. Shaggy's not..."
"Oh, so he's a queer?" her father accuses.
"No!" Daphne yells. Shaggy doesn't want anybody. Daphne's not going to even try to explain that to her parents.
"Okay, what about you and the Dinkley girl?" Nan presses.
"Velma?" Daphne asks. "No. She-- She's with Marcie." No sense in hiding it. Velma and Marcie's kiss was discussed in the morning paper.
Delilah hums. She believes Daphne.
"Okay. Now what about you and the Jones boy?" Barty asks.
"We're married!" Daphne yells. She hates being on the opposite end of an interrogation.
"Oh, my lord." Barty puts a hand over his heart and sits in a chair beside Delilah.
"And when did that happen?" Dorothy asks.
Daphne is silent.
"She doesn't need to answer. The sheriff found their marriage certificate in their sin wagon," Dawn answers. She pulls the certificate from her purse and shows their mother.
"November 3rd, 1969..." Nan is silent for a moment. "Daphne Elizabeth, go to your room. And make yourself presentable." Daphne stands and makes her way to the staircase. "Jenkins! Follow her and make sure she stays put."
"Yes, Mrs. Blake. This way, Mrs. Jones," Jenkins says and holds out his arm for Daphne to go ahead of him.
~+~
Velma's POV
Velma walks into her room for the first time in over a year. Her mother told her to get some rest and they would talk over dinner. Velma's room is untouched. It looks exactly the way she left it. She goes straight for her bookshelf. She's missed it so much. She has hundreds of books piled up on the shelf. There was no way she could take them all with her. Daphne says that Velma has a 'book for every occasion.'
Her fingers graze the spines of her Ben Ravencroft books. She stops when she reaches The Witch's Ghost: The Tale of Sarah Ravencroft. It's one of her favorites. Velma lays on her bed and tries to read it, but her mind focuses instead on the gang and Marcie. She doesn't know what will happen to them now. She doesn't know what the future will hold anymore. She throws her book to the side and sits up.
Nothing in her life makes sense anymore. She controls nothing. Velma tries to think of something she can control. She looks down at her feet, still covered in the stockings she was wearing the night before. She hates the feeling of them. They're far too tight. Velma ventures over to her armoire and opens the doors. She grabs her favorite sweater and a pair of capris. She wishes she had shorts. Her mother always said that shorts were too exposing. Nice girls don't wear shorts. Velma runs her fingers through her long leg hair. She really should shave it now, to spare her a lecture from her mother.
But by the time Velma's changed, her mother calls her down to dinner. The smell of her mother's goulash hits her nostrils as soon as she leaves her room. Her mouth waters instantly. Shaving can wait.
While they were on the road, Shaggy attempted his own version of goulash several times, but he could never get it just the way her mother made it. Velma would never tell him that though. And maybe Shaggy knew she was lying when she said, "it tastes just like my mother's."
No one could replicate Angie Dinkley's goulash.
The table is set with their fine china that they use for holidays and other special occasions. A steaming bowl of the goulash is already spooned out and accompanied by a glass of iced tea. Velma sits down.
Angie walks in from the kitchen with her own bowl and drink. Velma suspects that the mug her mother sits down in the table is mint julep, not coffee or tea.
"Thank you," Velma mutters. She starts eating.
Angie doesn't. She stares at Velma for a long time, like she's mapping out her features. Like at any moment, Velma may disappear again. Velma tries to look at anything else. Something Other than her mother's glazed stare.
Velma's eyes sit on a stack of mail on the kitchen counter. On top sits the morning paper. The gang's mugshots are on the front page. Velma doesn't even remember them being taken.
"I suppose you want me to do all the talking, hmm?" Angie asks. Her voice is the same chirpy tone it always is, but Velma suspects there's something hidden underneath.
"What is there to talk about?" Velma asks. She stares at her bowl.
"Velma, I think it's best if we both agree to tell each other the truth, and to never discuss the past year ever again." Angie starts eating. "I've talked to Mrs. Norton, and her Gibby would love to take you out for dinner on Friday night. He's a student at Darrow University now. You should be grateful that he's making time for you."
I never asked him to make time for me, is right on the tip of Velma's tongue, but Angie keeps talking.
"I don't know what happened while you were gone, and frankly, I don't want to know. I don't want to know who this 'unknown girl' is, but you will never see her again. As of this morning, you're going steady with Gibby Norton."
Velma's spoon clanks as it hits her almost empty bowl. "What?" Velma lets out a noice that's a mix of a sigh and a scoff as she tries to find her words. "But Mom, you always said that studies were more important than boys, you always said that I needed to focus on school and I-I still need to finish high school. I need to get my drivers license, I-I'll be going to Darrow myself next fall! I won't have time for that!"
"You won't have the opportunity for any of that if you get killed for being a dyke!" Angie explodes. "Do you remember how many times I had to buy you a new pair of glasses? How many bottles of cleaner you took to school to clean off the things people wrote on your locker? Do you remember that summer when I drove you around town because Red Herring and his friends were following you everywhere? And that was before—," Angie holds a napkin over her mouth as her voice breaks. She takes a measured breath, removes the napkin, and continues. "Gibby is safe. Gibby is stable."
But Marcie has made Velma feel things that no one else ever has. Marcie makes Velma feel truly seen. Marcie is deeper than anything Velma has ever encountered before. Marcie is fireworks, Marcie is Ben Ravencroft's novels, Marcie is the entire year Velma's spent on the road. Marcie is a haunted amusement park. Where is she right now?
Velma is startled by the sudden touch of her mother's hand. "Sometimes to live, you must sacrifice happiness." Angie stands and takes Velma's bowl. "Friday night at six. Gives you plenty of time to pick out a new dress." Angie disappears into the kitchen.
Friday night. Five days away. A voice in Velma shouts at her. Why don't you fight this? Why don't you leave again? Why are you so willing to just give up?
The answer is simple. Velma is nothing without the gang. She's just some lesbo nerd who loves mysteries. She's no longer the intelligent, badass mystery solver she was just a day before. What's a mystery solver without her team?
Soft tapping comes from Velma's window. It spooks her out of her skin. The tapping continues.
Has she finally lost her mind? Has the stress and lack of sleep driven her to hear things?
Slowly, Velma walks to the window. She wishes Shaggy and Scooby were here. They're both so brave in times of peril. Velma jerks her curtains back.
Marcie Fleach is grinning at Velma outside her bedroom window. Marcie waves at Velma like they're across the street from each other, and not separated by a thin pane of glass. Velma opens the window and lets Marcie in.
~+~
Shaggy's POV
It's dark by the time Shaggy gets escorted to his cell. All of his court dates are finally over and now he will be 26 when he's able to walk free again. But he would dodge the draft over and over if given a chance. He has no regrets.
Six years imprisoned is better than taking lives for one. He only wishes Scooby were with him. His best buddy. His pal. His closest friend. He thinks of the rest of the gang. Will they still be friends in six years? Will they visit?
And most importantly, what will become of them now that they don't have each other?
His cell is small and dark. He misses the cot he slept on in the Mystery Machine. It may have been smaller than his bed in the cell, but it was way more comfortable.
Shaggy tries to sleep, but it never comes. He misses the gang so much. They've never been apart for this long. Velma and Marcie attended his trial, but he wasn't able to interact with them much, other than a small wave with his cuffed hands.
Are Daphne and Freddy alright? Has Freddy went to boot camp yet? How is Daphne coping with it all? She's never been alone, really. Since she wasn't at his trial with the girls, he just knows she's locked herself in her room. She's probably listening to sad country music like her father does when he and her mother get into arguments.
There's no music for Shaggy to listen to here. And nothing for him to play it on. Instead, Shaggy starts humming to himself quietly. It starts out as nothing, but eventually becomes a pitiful rendition of "Stand By Me".
~+~
Fred's POV
In the days after Fred left the Sheriff's office, he's spent all his time getting ready for basic training in his Uncle's old home. He's packed his suitcase and unpacked it over and over so many times that he's sure he could do it in his sleep. After the fifth nightmare in which he was brutally killed, Fred started designing traps. Only this time, they could be deadly. He hates the mere idea of using a beautiful trap to take someone's life, but if it prolongs his, then maybe he could find some excuse for it.
As he looks at the designs of spikes, nails, blades, and ropes his stomach begins to turn. What would the gang think of these traps now? They'd be disgusted. Horrified. Especially Shaggy. Fred can't stare at another death device. He begins ripping up the drawings, the page long explanation sheets, the short lists of materials. He's ripping and throwing the shreds in the floor. Ripping. Ripping. Ripping. Killing. Killing. Killing. Death. All. Around.
He doesn't know he's screaming until he stops. His throat is sore and he's got a few papercuts. Why did he stop?
The doorbell rings again. Oh, yeah. That's why. Fred carefully steps out of the circle of death and goes to the door, expecting either Uncle Fred or maybe the Sheriff. Sheriff Stone has been by a lot. Fred thinks the Sheriff is making sure he hasn't tried to dodge again.
Barty Blake is staring at Fred with the same look of disappointment he always has in his eyes when he looks at him. Fred's head tilts in confusion before he can stop it. A trait he picked up from Daphne.
"Hello, Fred," Barty says. Without welcome, Barty pushes past Fred and into the house.
"Mr. Blake," Fred closes the door and catches up to the man. Should I call him dad?
"I came to discuss something that is very dear to us both, Jones," Barty says after a while of looking at the scattered papers.
Daphne. "Is she well?" Fred asks.
"No, she's not."
"What's wrong with her?" Fred bursts. He's in Barty's face before he can stop himself.
"You." The older man fusses around with his gold cufflink on his long winter jacket. "It seems that as long as there's hope of being with you, she will never recover from her year long escapade. I believe that it's best if you nipped her hopes in the bud to save her from future heartbreak."
"What?"
"Fred, you and I both know what it's like in Vietnam. Many who go don't come back, and many of the ones that make it don't come back the same. Say you go and you don't come back, Daphne will never be able to move on properly. Say you go and you do come back. But you come back wrong. Daphne--,"
"Won't be able to let me go," Fred finishes.
"Yes. Her love for you has caused her a lot of damage, but to lose you in a way that was not your decision would ruin her," Barty explains. "I believe a clean break is needed for this wound to heal properly." There's a small silence. Fred knows what he needs to do. "Do you understand?"
Yes.
~+~
It takes Fred a long time to come to terms with what he must do. He doesn't know how he should go about it. He doesn't know if he can even face Daphne knowing that he is about to break her heart. And his. But Barty is right. Daphne will never move on, never let go, if Fred doesn't first.
Fred has designed countless traps in the past few days, but done of them are as awful as the trap he's about to pull. A trap for his love.
It's raining in earnest while he waits for Daphne to meet him at the clubhouse. He had Jenkins send her a note like he always would for them before they ran away. Back when life was simple.
Before, the sound of Daphne's footsteps brought Fred joy. Now, they just bring dread. He looks at her. She's soaked to the bone, even with an umbrella. She walks until she's a few feet away from him. She doesn't still. She can't. She's shivering to bad.
All Fred wants is to take her in his arms and never let her go. But he can't. Instead, he says, "Daphne, it was all a mistake."
"Huh," she asks. Her head tilts to the side. Her beautiful green eyes look up at him. Her wet lashes flutter as she blinks fast to get rain out of them.
"Everything was a mistake." Fred doesn't look at her. "Dodging the draft, running away... our whole marriage. It shouldn't have happened."
Fred sees the puff of breath that comes out of her mouth in the cold. "What are you saying, Freddy?"
"Daphne!" he yells. "I regret our marriage! I don't want to be your husband anymore. I don't even think I ever truly wanted to in the first place. You're just the only girl to ever talk to me beside's Velma. Us getting married was just par the course at that point. But marriage has never been what I've wanted in my life."
"I know you don't mean that." Tears are in Daphne's eyes as she hardens her jaw.
"I do." Fred gets in her face this time. "I don't even know why you were in the gang. I mean, Velma's the smart one, I'm the leader. Shaggy and Scooby are good bait, but you? You're nothing more than a pretty face. You're a shit mystery solver... the only good thing you can do is get caught."
Daphne doesn't speak. She just stands there with a mix of rain and tears falling on her cheeks.
"Do me the honor of getting out of my life, Daphne Blake."
Fred climbs into one of his Uncle's cars and speeds off. Once he's out of the woods, he searches for Daphne's cherry red Cadillac DeVille. He parks right behind it and jogs up to the drivers side. Jenkins rolls down the window.
"Yes, Mr. Jones?" the butler asks.
"Promise me something," Fred says.
"Go on?"
"Promise me that no matter what happens, you will always be there for her." Fred's gaze bores a hole in Jenkins' eyes.
The older man smiles. "Always."
~+~
The bus that will take Fred to basic training arrives on time. The only belongings that matter to him are with him in a small suitcase. His wedding band is tucked inside a lime green scarf Daphne liked to wear.
His Uncle pulls him into a hug. They stay like that for a long time. Freddy breathes the scent of his cologne in deeply. He knows it will be the last time he smells it.
The bus driver honks the bus' horn. The two men part.
Uncle Fred claps Fred on the shoulder. "I love you, son."
"I love you too," Fred replies. He means it.
Fred climbs on the bus and claims a seat in the back. He watches Uncle Fred the entire time. Despite the overcast sky, he's wearing sunglasses. Fred knows he must be hiding tears. Other people in the crowd don't hide their emotions as they tell their men goodbye. Like Uncle Fred and Fred himself, many of them know that they will never see their sons, brothers, husbands, or nephews again.
Fred tries to conjure an image of the gang in his mind. Happy memories of summer nights spent under the stars, days spent driving across America looking for the next man in a mask.
The bus begins to move. Fred doesn't take his eyes from the crowd. He imagines the gang seeing him off. Shaggy, Scooby, Velma and Daphne...
Daphne.
Daphne?!
There she is. Standing right in the middle of the crowd of families wearing the same dress she wore at their wedding. Jenkins is by her side. On his arm is a purple winter coat. Fred knows Jenkins enough to know that the man probably begged Daphne to wear the coat. And he knows Daphne enough to know that she refused because she wanted to be seen by Fred.
The message is clear. This is what you're leaving behind.