Title: "Como Fue"
Author: pineappleminivan.
Synopsis: A year later, Daniel reflects at Christmastime. A "what-if" soon to be made an Alternate Universe by new episodes.
Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own Ugly Betty, I'm just borrowing the characters. If you find something in here you'd like for your own story, go for it; just credit me somewhere.
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Chapter One:
He felt it spreading across his shoulders, burning in his stomach and making his face turn red. This is what it feels like, he told himself. This is what it feels like to be rejected.
It was a new feeling. It hurt.
"But—Sofia, wait. I can change, we can go back to the way we were before—"
Mercifully, Sofia stopped his artificial protest. "Daniel," she said, her soft accent sounding like silk, "we both know, you aren't in love with me, and I—we were never in love in the first place. We were just—" she paused and sighed, brushing away the snow that had stuck to Daniel's spiky bangs as they walked in from the parking lot. "We were caught up in a moment, trying to fill something that wasn't there." She paused and looked at him.
"Daniel, have you ever stopped and thought about what you want? This dream—kids, a house, a family—this is what I want. But what do you want? You've spent your entire life trying to fit into somebody else's shoes, and you've never really thought about—" She stopped.
"I don't think you've ever figured out what you want for yourself," she said in a softer voice.
He searched her face, trying to understand, trying to process this new emotion and feel desire and regret at the same time while a small part of him started to understand what she was saying. She saw this in his eyes and pulled him downwards for a kiss.
Daniel closed his eyes, deepening the kiss and pulling her closer, as close as he could. The sound of the airport faded away and he could only hear his heart beat, feel the woman in his arms, the warmth from her body. It hit him again, that hurt so acute he could feel it pricking at the base of his neck, at his eyes. Don't cry, he told himself. Act the man.
But this feeling, it was new. His mouth was dry, he tasted metal. Was this regret?
"Sofia," he said again after they pulled apart. "Wait."
"No Daniel," she said, grasping the handle of her luggage and turning to leave.
He had been able to stop her before. In front of the Suarez house he had grasped the fence and held on to the Christmas ornament that he had made that day. It was for her, for his Sofia. It wasn't a Tiffany necklace, he thought to himself, but this was what's right. This is what I want, he said to himself, strangely happy.
He had felt relieved, like something slid into place and opened a lock. He didn't realize he could feel this way, want these things, these normal things: a house, a home—a family.
Standing outside in the cold snow he held onto the small white fence and thought that if he could cross this, if he could get her to understand at that moment, she would be his forever. And he would be hers.
But that was last year. In the back of his mind he could hear Betty's voice, telling him how so much could change in a year. She was right. It just wasn't always happy.
Sofia stood there, in the airport. She took another step backward.
"Daniel," she said, "goodbye."
Daniel didn't say anything, couldn't say anything. Fine, he thought, have the movie star ending. He wasn't going to say a word. This was what she wanted after all.
Sofia drew in a hitched breath, turned around, and walked away.
Daniel stared after her, motionless as the airport breathed around him.
He thought he had known what he wanted: her. But now, he didn't know what to think. Daniel turned around and walked back outside, the cold air helping to clear his thoughts and calm the heat in his face and the ache in his heart. He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out his cell phone.
"Betty," he breathed.
"Is everything okay? It's nine o'clock, what's the matter?" the concerned voice said on the other end of the line.
"Nothing," he said, "I just need a ride from the airport. I forgot that we drove here in her car."
Daniel winced, sucked in a quick breath. We, that abominable word that betrays so many things. He had forgotten about Betty's feelings. Forgotten that Sofia meant a lot to her too, as a mentor and a friend. But Betty, ever cheerful, ever resourceful, didn't say anything. Instead, she filled him in on the day's events. He had been out of the office, saying goodbye to Sofia.
He hated himself for asking her to stay. Not Sofia—Betty. Suddenly a new regret rose up over the first. He felt sick to his stomach. He leaned against a pole outside the airport.
He had been the first to congratulate Betty on the opportunity to work for Sofia's new magazine. It was exactly what Betty needed, what she excelled at. What she had dreamed about her whole life. But then, one night after he and Sofia had a fight, he had wound up at a bar again, drowning his sorrows. He had called her—Betty—asked her to pick him up. She came, as always, pulling him out of the bar and practically carrying him on one shoulder. He begged her to stay at Mode. He said he didn't know how to do this magazine without her.
He sighed listening to Betty chatter on about things he knew were important. But at that moment, he just didn't care. What was wrong, he asked himself? How could he have come to this point? He didn't know how to run this magazine without a girl that had never seen the business end of a pair of tweezers. She didn't seem to realize that black and brown do not go together, no matter what Women's Day said.
He had begged her, cried as she drove him back to his house that night. He was ashamed to think about it now, but he had hoped she would drive back to her warm house, tuck him back in the garish-colored bed with the Little Mermaid pillows so that he could wake up to Papa Santos' cooking.
But that was before the coldness had settled in, or the distance had started. Daniel shivered. He didn't even realize it until after it had already happened, when Betty's open face had suddenly become unreadable, even as they spent midnight sessions getting the magazine to press. She hadn't invited him back to her house, her family and their warm house. Daniel knew it was better that way.
He thought he had known what he wanted. He thought he had found it in Sofia. But now, standing out in the cold, the snow started to fall again and it was all he could to do stand upright on the earth, holding onto the cell phone and Betty's voice for support.
"Daniel, are you okay? Are you listening?" Betty said, feeling the distance between them even with his voice in her ear.
"Yeah," Daniel said, "ah, yeah. It sounds great Betty," he said in his gravely voice.
"We'll be over to pick you up," Betty said.
"Who," Daniel said. There was that word again—the We that speaks volumes.
"My family" she said.
Daniel breathed a sigh of relief. He hoped Betty didn't hear it.
And apparently she didn't. "We were out doing some Christmas shopping and we'll swing by and pick you up," she said.
Daniel smiled, something inside of him excited against his will.
"Okay," he said a little louder, a little stronger, "sounds great. See you in a few, Betty."
"Great," Betty said, "Justin's excited to see you. It's been over a year now."
"Yeah," Daniel said, "tell him I'm looking forward to hearing his ideas."
They said their goodbyes. Daniel closed his eyes and turned his face upwards, feeling the soft snow falling. He looked down and blinked the snow out of his eyelashes.
There he was, Daniel Meade, fashion editor, millionaire, son of a billionaire. Rich, powerful—handsome, he thought to himself, brushing off his jacket. And completely helpless without her, without Betty. He stood in the glare of the floodlight and waited to be rescued. An hour passed.
Then he heard it—from a mile away, it felt like. The Suarez' small, squat grey Honda rattled to a halt in front of him. Betty was in the passenger seat, her sister driving. Their father was noticeably absent, in jail and tied up in immigration proceedings.
Betty rolled down the window.
"Hey!" she said, waving him over. Daniel got in the backseat where Justin sat with a sketchpad open, full of different fashion ideas. Hilda looked back briefly and smiled a tight smile.
"We'll drop you off," Betty said.
"Thanks," he said. The car started off, shaking forwards.
He looked around, at the tattered jackets and the gas gauge nearly on empty and the heaviness that had settled on the once-happy family. How could they possibly be out buying presents, Daniel thought to himself.
And then he felt it again, that warm, almost burning feeling. It started at the bottom of his stomach and spread up into the top of his head, his entire body. He felt it so strongly it almost hurt. He wanted something, but he could barely articulate it. It didn't feel like a fast change, but instead something that had been building for a long time, a slow turning.
He couldn't name the feeling, it was so new, so intense. He shook his head. It couldn't be what he thought it was. Was it—no, not that. He drew in a sharp breath.
The Honda rattled even more than before, shuddered and then died about a block away from his high-rise apartment.
"No," Hilda wailed, "not now. We cannot deal with this right now."
Betty and Justin looked shaken, but his assistant soon shook it off and got everyone out of the car. They stood in mourning around the now-smoking grey car.
"Well," Betty said, "Is it okay if you can just maybe walk the rest of the way to your apartment?"
Daniel still wasn't listening. He was trying to understand, trying to process this new emotion that seemed to get stronger whenever he looked at the Suarez family.
He wanted to help.
"Yeah," he said, "but you guys come with me, and we'll get you a ride home, okay?"
Betty and Hilda looked at one another, having an unspoken conversation that Daniel could not decipher.
"Okay," Betty said, "but we don't want to impose."
"No," Daniel said, betraying his newfound emotion, "It's not like that—I want to."
He stared at the ground, too scared to look at the family's response.