Obligatory disclaimer: I don't own "Ugly Betty" or any of the characters and/or brandnames mentioned. No profit made, 'cause I'm still broke as a joke, trust.

A/N: Well, gentle readers, here I go again. I'm working diligently on my other fics (picture a pale chick with red hair bent over a keyboard and sweating profusely) but this one was banging around in my head relentlessly. It's not AU; in fact, it takes place in the not-too-distant future, after Christina has the Bradhelmina Baby.

Ch. 1: Love on a technicality

Daniel staggered into Alexis's office, high on pills and pain and betrayal. "Did Dad tell you him and Milhelwina are getting married?" he slurred. "They'll probably have some devil spawn together..."

"This is a freaking joke." Daniel had rolled down the car window and sat slouched over, palm to forehead, the knowledge that the proof that his prophecy had come true was swaddled in a cutesy blankie and waiting for him ten floors up weighing on his shoulders .

Betty sighed. Normally, she could coax him out of what she'd dubbed his "Dark Place" with a bagel. This issue went a little deeper than a simple case of Man PMS, and anyone who knew the back-story behind this latest event in the lives of the Meade clan would know immediately why.

Because mere hours earlier, at approximately 6:00 am, Christina had given birth to Dominique Victoria Slater—biological daughter of Bradford Meade and Wilhelmina Slater (and pawn of the latter), and Daniel and Alexis's half-sister.

Now Betty and Daniel sat in his Lambo in the hospital parking lot, the alt rock station cranked up and playing the same damn Nirvana song they'd played five minutes ago and effectively drowning out any points Betty was trying make about the baby being blameless, the baby being family, the baby blahblah, the baby, blah.

"She's your sister." Betty was starting to feel like a parrot, repeating the same damn phrase over and over. She knew the concept of family meant more to Daniel than he'd ever admit, but he seemed adamant. For Christ's sake, Cobain, no I won't freaking entertain you…

"It's my half-sister, if you want to get technical."

"She's your blood, not a technicality. And, oh, Daniel, she's so beautiful—big blue eyes, like someone else I know…" Betty had already seen her, having acted as a pseudo-midwife/birthing coach at Christina's request and Wili's chagrin.

"Satan was beautiful. It's only fitting that his spawn be drop-dead gorgeous."

Betty clutched the bouquet of bluebells and baby's breath closer to her, as if it were the baby that she had to shield from the harsh words. She set her jaw. "Fine. Suit yourself. I'll be back later, but don't bother waiting around." She slammed the car door and stalked up the gravel pathway.

Daniel already knew he was going to go after her; God, he was always following her. But he waited until she disappeared behind the revolving glass doors so as not to look like the needy, castrated shmoe he'd become when he was around her. And he knew he was being a putz when not even Betty was willing to put up with him anymore.

Maybe he would glance at it while he was begging Betty's forgiveness. Just a peek for curiosity's sake. Right.

He got out of the car.

DBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBDBD

Christina was propped up on pillows and crooning to Dominique when Betty walked in. She tossed a strand of dishwater blond hair out of her eyes and passed the baby to Betty, who took her gratefully.

Betty paced around, jouncing gently, and the baby cooed in sleepy pleasure. "How do you feel?" Betty inquired softly.

"Like complete and utter shite," Christina responded cheerfully. She nodded weakly towards the I.V. "Think they'd notice if I slipped some vodka in there?"

Betty rolled her eyes, but she was really proud of her formerly heavy-drinking friend. As far as Betty knew, Christina hadn't touched alcohol since she'd been inseminated.

It had been a fairly smooth pregnancy, other than the undeniable squick factor of being the receptacle of a dead man's sperm, but the actual birth was another matter. Dominique was a nine pounder, forcing Christina to opt for the Cesarean to avoid further complications.

Both women turned around when they heard the sound of a throat clearing at the door. Daniel nodded to Christina. Christina nodded back.

She liked Daniel but she'd never felt entirely comfortable around him for several reasons. First of all, any woman would be a little on guard by his lady-killing reputation. Second, she was convinced he was his douchey father's son in many ways, despite Betty's claims that of the two Meade siblings, Alexis was the bloodthirsty one. Thirdly, the way he looked at Betty sometimes was enough to raise any girl friend's red flag; although she trusted Betty's assessment of people in general, she was very young and somewhat naïve. She only hoped Daniel loved Betty enough to refrain from acting like the horndog he was around her.

And fourthly, she didn't like powerful, sexy-as-hell men like Daniel Meade to see her in nothing but a paper shirt and covered by a thin white sheet, and looking like something that had just crawled out of the septic tank.

But Daniel's attention, as always, was mostly focused on Betty, who was smirking at him over the baby's crown of soft brown curls.

"If you say 'I told you so,' I'll give you the noogie of your life," he mock-threatened.

Betty stuck her tongue out at him. "Glad you found your man-parts somewhere in the glove compartment and decided to meet your sister."

She held out the infant for Daniel's inspection. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing in light little shallow bursts of warm air. Daniel felt something stir inside him. Alexis had told him that she was adorable, but words didn't do her justice. She was like a big baby doll.

When Betty took a step closer to deposit her in his arms, though, he backed up, startled. "I'll drop her," he whispered. "I've never held a baby before."

Betty smiled. "You won't drop her. You're a big, strong guy, you lift weights religiously, you'll be fine. Here you go…" and suddenly Dominique was in his arms.

The pounding of his nervous (and let's face it, smitten) heart was probably what caused the infant's eyes to open. They were indeed blue, like his father's, like Alexis's, like his. Yeah, they were mostly like his. He was not going to make a gigantic slobbering pantywaist of himself over this baby, he was determined. She spit bubbles. He was lost.

He held out a finger and she grasped it, and Betty, leaning against his shoulder, felt his inaudible sharp intake of breath. "She likes me." He was grinning now.

Betty nuzzled her cheek into his shirt, much like Dominique was doing; he did have a way with girls, after all. Or so she'd heard. "Technically, it's a reflex."

Now it was Daniel's turn to stick out his tongue. "Technically, she likes me," he insisted.

Betty couldn't argue.

Christina wearily tried to determine how much she'd die if she told Mommy and Daddy over there to get a room and let her get some rest.

So, do you like? Or no? Either way, you know my review policy—anything is appreciated. Over and out. (For now.)