Title: No More Running Away
Rating: T (may change to M for later chapters)
Synopsis: This is sort of a gathering of little vignettes, each part inspired by a certain quote or lyric. Some fluffy, some not so fluffy, but Detty all the way. And also to note, if you expect them to break down and confess undying love, this isn't the fic for you. I just don't believe it would happen like that. That's not to say I don't want it to, I just don't think the characters are in that place yet.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. God damn it.
Suggested Playlist: PJ Harvey, One Line; The Calling, Wherever You Will Go; the Cardigans, You're The Storm; Carly Simon, You Are My Sunshine; Air Traffic, Shooting Star; Britney Spears, Out From Under; Flashing Lights, Kanye West; U2, With or Without You; Leona Lewis (or Snow Patrol), Run; the Saturdays, Up; Pat Benatar, Love is a Battlefield
Notes: I'm not the type to not finish a story so I will be coming back to 'Of Mistletoe and Kisses'. It's just this just popped into my head. This is the first of three parts. Feedback is good for the soul I hear....*sticks out tongue*
Do you remember the first kiss/stars shooting across the sky/ to come to such a place as this/you never left my mind
She sits on top of the conference table, feet tucked in underneath her, chewing on a mouthful of Chinese. Occasionally she glances sideways at Daniel, usually when he throws something or curses aloud. It isn't the first time they have had to rethink a cover last minute, but she thinks Daniel just likes the drama. It's why he yells a lot. Deep down she knows that he knows they will pull it together.
They always do.
"A heart attack," she mumbles. He throws her a look, one with the intention of scaring her down to her core. She instead rolls her eyes. Daniel knows he can never scare her. She trusts him too much and this in turn scares the hell out of him. Betty Suarez is one of the only people in the world who has complete faith in his abilities. Sometimes he wonders why.
"I can't think," he replies, rubbing his temples.
"Of course you can't," she sighs, "You're too busy assaulting pencils."
He jumps up from his seat and begins to pace. She can be so....infuriating sometimes. Although he has to hand it to her – usually she'll let him have his tantrums without a word until after. Tonight she's just tired. He watches as she gently removes one leg from beneath her and stretches it out. She rubs her neck, eyes, throat, drawing attention to her now dipping cleavage line. She must have undone some buttons on her blouse he thinks absentmindedly. He has this absurd urge to reach out and play with the pink flowered buttons there but shakes it off. Just tired he thinks.
"Well have you come up with anything smartass?" he throws back.
"Working on it," Betty utters with such calm he almost feels it too. He lets out another groan, hooking both arms around the back of his neck. She watches him curiously as he moves over the glass partition separating them from the main entrance hall. He places both palms on the cold glass and bends over, focusing on his feet.
Betty blushes when she realises what her eyes have focused on. That certainly isn't allowed. Besides it was just an accident. She was watching him move and that's the position he ended up in. She couldn't help it if he pushed his rear end in her face.
"Molly," she spits out suddenly. She regrets it as soon as the words come out. She really doesn't want to know. She doesn't want him to disappoint her and she certainly doesn't want him hurt.
Daniels eyes shoot open, and he raises his head to focus on the desk out the window.
"What about her?" he asks quietly.
"She seems nice, really nice," Betty replies, pushing her pen and pad to the side. She rests her feet on the chair in front of her, exuding pressure on the flats of her palms which press on the table.
"She's ok," he chokes out.
"Ok? Daniel I saw the size of the cheque. She must be better than ok." Betty half laughs on the last part, trying to keep the subject light.
"She's nice Betty ok?" he snaps, standing up, "She's...out of my league."
"And engaged," Betty adds, after a moment. He turns, glaring.
"I know that."
"Just reminding you. Sofia was engaged too."
"I know that too," he grits out through clenched teeth. She can tell she's skating on thin ice. She doesn't really care. Sometimes Daniel Meade needs a reality check. And on this she really doesn't approve.
"Engaged to your friend..."
"Jesus Betty, state the obvious much?" he sighs. She merely shrugs, her gaze falling to her feet. She likes her shoes. Butterfly stitching lines the bright yellow background. Only one thing she likes more than butterflies and that's fairies. She laughs inwardly that her mind should drift like this while arguing with Daniel. It's not that she's not taking him seriously, or even scared he's angry with her, it's just that she can't help any of those things. If it's going to happen, if he's going to be mad, then so be it.
"Someone has to give you a reality check Daniel," she murmurs, waving her shoes from side to side. He wonders briefly where her mind is. He loves how she can still focus while being somewhere completely different in her head. He'd like to be there sometimes too. Curiosity he guesses.
"Don't even know why we're discussing this; it's none of your business."
"Just like Henry was none of yours."
Her reply stings a little but he ignores the feeling. She is not to have that type of hold over him. She gauges the reaction, glancing up through honey brown bangs. She's a little satisfied that she can hurt him. Not that she enjoys it but it's nice to know she can. It means he cares and from time to time everyone needs reminding of that.
Sighing she realises she took it too far. "Just...promise me you won't do anything stupid?"
"Can't promise that. Stupid is my middle name," he moans. Betty hates it when he wallows in the depths of his own self pity. It was beginning to grate on her nerves, because he knows rightly that she doesn't think he is stupid. Far from it.
"Daniel," she warns, cocking an eyebrow. He loves that look. That half smile, half "don't' you dare".
"I'll try not to do anything stupid," then he hastily adds, "For you."
She flashes him a smile, bearing the metal of her braces.
He was growing more attached to that smile every day.
You're a cutie if it all falls through/we can piece it back together/I can learn to trust you too/ you're just too good to lose/and I can't refuse/so don't make me choose between the two/I'm fed up in here/in my atmosphere/don't you know who you are/you're my shooting star
She can't sleep. Again. For possibly the fourth night in a row. She blames the heat. She can never get comfortable partly because she loves to hug her blanket as she falls asleep, however in current climates, that just wasn't possible. Not if she didn't want to melt. She tosses again, tugging at her t-shirt uncomfortably. She desperately wants to shed it but a little nagging voice in her head reminds her she isn't that girl.
She hears a roar of an engine from outside. It echoes through the apartment, and she's sure the whole street is probably awake. Some asshole with a really small penis is obviously trying to make up for it. She hears her trashcan being knocked over and a cat screeching.
Oh great.
She throws her legs out the side of her bed and pads over to the window, pulling the drapes to one side. Her eyes fall on Daniels car – a jet black Lamborghini, complete with blue under lights reflecting off the road, and butterfly doors. It reminds her of a spaceship and, she smiles, at the ridiculous thought of Daniel in a space suit.
She watches as he clambers out and inspects the bin, exasperated. Deciding now is a good time to acknowledge the fact he has woken her and half the neighbourhood up, she cranks open her window. He hears a wolf whistle, and looks up, startled.
"You need to learn to park Meade," she calls out, leaning forwards. He rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed he's been caught.
"Sorry about your....trashcan..." he replies, frowning at the overturned metal.
"Apologise to my neighbours," she laughs. "I see you're over compensating again."
"I see you're just as colourful when going to bed," he calls back with a lop-sided grin. Glancing down at her smiley face t-shirt, she rolls her eyes, sticking out her tongue. He strides up her front path, both hands in the pockets of his black Armani suit. His collar is undone, his black tie hanging open against the crisp white of his Prada shirt.
What? She's been working at Mode for three years now. She has picked some things up.
"Ok Boss. You've officially got my attention," she says in a way that makes him shiver in over 90 degree heat.
"Come for a ride with me?" he asks, his head jerking towards his car.
"Why?"
"I feel like looking at the city."
"At 5am?"
"I told you to call me whenever. Works both ways Suarez."
"Yeah but I wouldn't wake up half your neighbours because I'm trying to show off," she argues lightly. He gazes up at her hanging out her bedroom window. He has this ridiculous thought that it reminds him of that scene from Romeo and Juliet. Except she's not Juliet and he's certainly not Romeo.
"Come on," he orders quietly. Ordering her around is not something he tries to do often. He knows the response he'd be met with. But he has a feeling tonight she might just do it. It's in the air. Or lack thereof.
"Give me a minute to get decent," she sighs.
"Don't change on my account." The way he says it, the husky flirty voice, the sultry look in his eyes, startles her and she freezes for a second. Surely Daniel Meade hadn't just tried to flirt with her? That is a dynamic of their relationship never explored. It just isn't how they are wired. Not with each other. She briefly wonders why they've never flirted, especially in their assistant/boss relationship, but doesn't dwell on the thought for long.
He has noticed the effect he has over her when flirting and he can't decide if it's a good thing. She seems frozen, and he wonders if he's made her uncomfortable.
"You going to change then, or are you contemplating jumping?" he asks, clearing his throat.
"Patience," she smiles, disappearing in her window.
He's not sure why he has ended up here. Outside his assistants house in the early hours of the morning. He has been drinking, yes, but it seems to have worn off so he can't really blame alcohol. His brain was just working overtime tonight, and he wanted to talk to someone, but mostly her. Could it have waited until a more appropriate time and place? Yes. Did he want to wait? No. Daniel Meade really doesn't have the patience for waiting. He usually gets what he wants, sometimes it takes money, sometimes it takes his unrelenting charm, sometimes it takes both.
Depending on the thing he wants. Nothing is ever really too far from his reach. Except Molly. No sir'ee, can't go there....
The front door swings open and Betty Suarez stands in the frame. Her hair is frazzled, tied back roughly in a pony tail. She's wrapped up in her puffy blue coat, tracksuit bottoms peak out, and are stuffed into a pair of brown boots. She's a mismatch of colours, and he finds it endearing. He's probably one of the few who would.
The thought crosses his mind if this is what she looks like after sex. All rough and tousled.
Whoa...where did that come from?
Betty and sex never ended up in the same sentence together. Ever. The thought just never really crossed his mind to think of her in that way. Why would it? He wouldn't think of Becks after sex, why would he Betty?
Now you're just disturbing yourself.
"What's wrong?"
Daniel looked like a deer caught in headlights and it unnerves her.
"Nothing," he chokes out, "You look ridiculous."
"Oh I'm sorry, my Chanel is getting dry cleaned," she quips, jumping down her steps. "Come on Meade, we're both in work at 9am so you got me for two hours max."
He races ahead of her and pulls open the door. She grins. He never forgets the charm offensive. Even with her. His father trained him well. Manners are one of the few things Daniel never forgets. Even when he's dumping a girl. He always remembers to send flowers or jewellery, but Betty isn't sure if this is a good or bad thing.
She slides in on top of the Italian leather, and has this absurd thought that she is not allowed to touch anything. It seems surreal she should even be near a car like this, never mind being a passenger. He jumps in the driver's seat, both doors fluttering closed at the same time.
"Buckle up," he commands, pressing a button. The car starts up on command, purring gently.
"Daniel," she says suddenly, "Have you been drinking tonight?"
She knows he has. She isn't stupid. She can smell the expensive champagne. It's oozing out of every pore. And even if, more likely when, he answers with yes, she won't jump out of the car and walk away like she should. She'll stay. Because deep down Betty Suarez craves a little danger, and Daniel Meade embodies that danger. From the car he owns, right down to his taste in suits. And for tonight she wants to be part of his untouchable world. Riding in this car tonight will give her a taste of what it's like to be one of his girlfriends. Not that she wants to be one, but there's a curiosity there that just screams out in need of satisfaction.
Daniel Meade equals danger. She makes a mental note to remember that for when she wakes up in a hospital bed later.
"Yup," he replies, a little too casually for her liking. "That a problem?"
It's not that he doesn't care if she's safe or not. He does, but he knows he's not inebriated. He knows he's untouchable. Which should tell him that he is indeed perhaps not fit enough to drive, but Betty is a big girl. She'll say no if she wants to.
"Nope," she replies after a pause, "Just don't kill me Meade. Or I'll haunt you."
He chuckles, the engine roaring as he pulls out sharply. Betty's hand instinctively reaches for the handle, gripping it has he shifts the car up a gear. The stereo pings to life, Kanye West's Flashing Lights echoing loudly in her ears. It seems ridiculous to her that she should even know this song, let alone who sings it.
"Oh that reminds me, you need to give me that number so I can confirm Kanye for the Mode Christmas party," she spits out. He roars around a bend, the back of his car swinging out.
I'm going to die Betty thinks, gripping tighter.
"No shop talk," Daniel replies, letting the wheel slip through his grip. He's a good driver, no scratch that, he's a fantastic driver. He handles a car exactly how he handles his women. He needs them fast and sleek, but he can seduce it into doing whatever he wants with minimal effort. No matter how big the challenge.
She gazes at him from the side, considering how immature he still really is. Of course he's grown up since meeting her but he's still that Playboy at heart. Flashy car, flashy apartment, tall, beautiful women. Some things Betty might not ever be able to change.