See Part 1 for FULL header...

Title: You Can't Always Get What You Want, Or Sparks (2/2)
Author: Me (aka Sharma aka johnshepppardluv aka S'sLC)
Word Count for THIS part: ~4,710

Extensive Author's Notes: Looks like I've changed my mind and gone and added another part to this
story. To be fair though, I originally wrote this for a Livejournal challenge, and the cliffhanger at the end
of Part 1 was actually SUPPOSED to be a choose-your-own open-ended & ambiguous final curtain call.

To woodenboat and Erica and MC, I am really glad you three liked it enough to write and give reviews of
ANY type for it, especially the wonderfully enthusiastic ones you all wrote. I just wish I could have directly
responded to each of you, but none of you were signed in. Alas...

And, to kataragurl27, thank you for your lovely comment as well. Hope you like this part as much as you
liked the first. :) Oh! And I also could AND DID indeed respond directly to you. :)

Well, here we go again...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Buzzzzzzz!

Buzzzzzzzzzzz...

Whirrrrrrrrr. Whirrrrrrrr.

Biiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnngggggggg!

I woke to a vibrating noise loudly sounding off next to my ear. Buzzing noise? A razor? My phone? Why wasn't it
in my pocket though? And who was calling me now? I try to think backwards to what I had been doing before, and
that's precisely when a wave of great pain registers in my brain, and shoots out through my shrouded eyes as
they involuntarily pop open. And then, I can no longer think much of anything at all.

Yet, the phone keeps ringing and buzzing on. And I know I have to answer it. If only to quiet the sound that is
cuurently doing a real number on my headache. Somehow, I'm able to move my arm enough to blindly grasp
at it. I can barely see the numbers on it once its dangling in front if my face though. Everything's blurry. I jab at
what appears to be the correct button, all the while hoping it IS the correct one.

"Hullo?" I mouth hesitantly in the vague direction of the mouthpiece.

"Hey there, I just wanted to make sure you got home safely, Daniel. You ARE back at your flat by now, right?"

Betty?

"Betty?"

"Yeah, of course, it's me. Who else would be calling you at this time of night or rather this time of early morning?"

That's when things start to come back to me. We'd gone out on a semi-date of sorts. We'd gone to dinner together,
then to ride the Eye, and then got coffee, and then ended the night by unexpectedly kissing each other under the stars.
And then I guess I'd left. Or else she wouldn't be calling me.

That's when things begin to finally dawn on me. I notice I'm still flat on my back, wherever I was. I knew I wasn't in
Chelsea, that's for sure. Wait a minute... I wasn't even inside! What was going on?

"Daniel? Daniel, are you okay? You sound out of breath."

It's only then I realize I'm panicking. Hyperventilating because of the unknown block of time I still can't account for.

Must calm down. Must calm down. Must not frighten Betty.

"I...uh...don't think I made it home yet."

"What?! You left hours ago."

"Took a short cut. Turns out it wasn't so short."

I groan inwardly. That sounded awful. Like I was woefully uninformed.

Sure enough...

"You still sound weird. You're not drunk, are you?" A note of frustration and a hint of amusement.

"No, of course not." Quick to defend myself from her old lecture.

I then promptly smell my own breath just to make sure I hadn't just lied, and am satisfied with the resulting verdict.

Nope. Not drunk. Something else then. Mugged? Nothing was missing. Was there?

I sit up.

Or, more accurately, I sit up, only to slump forward at the oddness of motion that greets my dazed eyes.

Everything is spinning around me. Like I'm on a fast merry-go-round.

A throbbing sensation, centered over my right ear and that side of my forehead, renders my right hand unable
to ignore its presence. When my fingertiips hit the offendintg area, I'm startled to find a large raised bump there.
And it hurts.

"...I-I think I was attacked."

"Attacked!? Oh, no! Are you all right? Where are you? Are you in an alley? Or are you on a main street?
Were you mugged too? Is anything missing? Are you alone? Or is someone there with you now?
Is whoever attacked you still around?"

"Slow down, Betty. You're making my head spin."

Truth was, my head was already spinning, but she didn't need to know that. Oh, wait...

"Sorry, Daniel."

"That's all right."

"Are you nearer to me or to Chelsea?"

"You...I think. Why?"

"I'm coming to get you, silly. That's why."

"No, Betty. I'm really okay. I can get back by myself."

"Are you on your feet yet?"

"Umm..."

"I'll wait until you are then."

Despite the apparent seriousness of the situation, I find myself chuckling. "How do you do that?"

"Suarez trade secret. Now, shift."

"All right. All right. Hold on a minute."

Pushing myself to my knees, yet already groaning again at the discomfort beginning to further build up
in my head, I ignore Betty's tinny warning tone, and fully stand.

Taking the offending phone down from my ear, I take a really good look at my surroundings for the first time
since waking. No street signs to let me know where I am. No people either. Mysterious assailant or otherwise.
Which I guess is a good thing.

Also? Everything's blurry around the edges. Which sucks.

I start taking steps in one direction, only to falter a couple dozen steps later. My head gives a vicious tilt then,
and the next thing I know I have Betty's voice in my ear again. "Daniel, you need to stay still and awake, okay?
I'm coming to get you. I know where you are."

The phone goes away, and I find an old man looking intently at me from overhead. He looks worried. But, I'm not.
Betty's coming to get me. And strangely, I'm warm. It's a few seconds later that I realize I'm underneath someone
else's dry coat. And it's no longer raining either. Small wonder.

I hear snatches of a conversation going on nearby between two hazy figures and unfamiliar voices, one belonging
to a man - the man who'd just been perched over me? - and the other to a woman.

"...he all right?""

"...girlfriend's coming to get him."

"...drunk?"

"...pinched."

"...bad?""

Eventually, I manage to catch more than just snippets.

"It looks like he might have a concussion. What with that giant bump currently residing near his right temple.
That's probably why he stumbled and fell."

"What he needs is an ice pack. It could bring the swelling down."

"Shame we're not near a restaurant."

"Oh look, here she comes now."

"What a beautiful young woman."

The unknown female.

"This bloke's lucky to have someone like her."

The unknown male in agreement. With a respectful tone though, I notice.

Gradually, I too can hear the familiar running steps and am able to get my body under control enough to lift my
head from the pavement beneath me to see her approach. Apparently, she sees that I've come around, because
she quickens her steps, a relieved look upon her face, until she's by my side.

"What happened?" I manage.

"You very nearly passed out again, once you stumbled out of the alley. Lucky for you, the nice couple just
over there caught you before you actually fell and hurt yourself all over again though. And didnt I tell you that..."

"There were no street signs where I was, Betty. I couldn't just stay there."

"I know that, Daniel. And it's a good thing that you didn't stay where you were. Otherwise, I wouldn't have
been able to track you down quite as easily."

Off of my pointed look, she quickly continued. "The man who caught you also snagged your phone just before you
dropped it, got on the line, and gave me detailed directions on how to get here."

"Oh. Makes sense."

"Yeah. So, listen, I know the whole vertical thing dooesn't like you right now, but we could probably make it back to
my flat, and the medics could just get you from there. Thay way, it'd be a little less embarassing for you than them
just pulling up to the side of a busy city road."

"Betty, I don't need a medic. I'm fine. I've got a hard head. Remember?"

"You're also very stubborn."

"I'm not gonna argue with that."

Off of Betty's mildly shocked look, I can't quite stop my brain from telling her the truth.

"Right now, my head hurts too much to even think of a witty retort."

"Do you know who did this to you?" She's changing the subject. It must be pretty bad, if she's already doing that.

I close my eyes. Will my headache to recede. It doesn't work, but I keep my eyes shut anyway.

"Daniel, stay with me." Betty's voice, panicked.

I feel her hand cupping my cheek, trying to force me to look at her.

She thinks I'm passing out on her again.

"Not going to sleep. Just trying to think."

Short sentences work best. Even if they sound horribly slurred.

I desperately try to recall the moments in between leaving Betty at her flat and Betty calling me on my phone.
In my brain, I can hear a voice calling me "sissy boy" - a voice that is, at once, both familar and unfamiliar to me.
I try to concentrate on the sound, on fleshing out that sound - that voice - with any sort of visual. Of either what
I was hit with. Or who was doing the name-calling.

"Betty, I think I'm remembering something."

"That's good, Daniel. Very, very good. What are you remembering?"

"I..."

Anything I was going to tell Betty gets lost when my head chooses that moment to give a particularly nasty throb.

"Ahh!" Almost of its own accord, my right hand comes up and immediately presses up against the side of my head
where the throbbing from before is renewed.

I feel Betty suddenly shift, quicker than I thought she could move, cradling me just before my left elbow inevitably gives
out underneath the increased weight, my shoulders hit the ground, and my head meets the pavement for what would've
been the second time that night. Instead, I land against her chest.

"Oof."

Underneath all her many layers of clothing, I can still feel her breath leave her lungs with a soft whoosh.

"Sorry," I mutter. "A little woozy."

"I'd wager more than a little."

"I also think that thinking hard isn't doing me any favors at the moment."

"We've got plenty of time for that. Later. Like after you're feeling better. AND after you're a little less loopy."

I would laugh at that, but I know laughing will hurt. So, I grin instead. "You always know just what to tell a guy, Betty."

I open my eyes. She's leaning over me slightly now. Blocking out most of the glare from the street lights. And, despite
our current situation, she has a similar grin on her face. "Well, you know us Suarez girls. Always the best at picking
up the broken pieces, putting 'em back together, and soldiering on."

xxxx

Finally at rest. But not back in Chelsea. No, I'm laid up here in Betty's Islington flat, upon her insistence that I shouldn't be
alone the whole night. So, I'm lying on her couch, and beneath an ice pack and a warm quilt. Prostrate until she returns.

Betty hasn't been gone too long yet, but soon I find myslf drifting off. Despite the warning bells going off in my addled
brain, alerting me to the fact that maybe I shouldn't be going to sleep just now. I try to fight against the softly tugging
current dragging me under, but, in the end, it's a losing battle.

The melon green walls of Betty's apartment fade from view, as my eyes slip closed and the tension from before slowly
leaks from my body. And I realize that I'm probably just fully relaxing for the first time since I'd gotten here to London, let
alone since I'd met Betty in Trafalger Square yesterday morning.

Of course, now it IS the NEXT morning, albeit still super early, and I'm still technically within her company. Which is better
than I could've ever hoped for when I first decided that I was finally going after a new life, and a major part of it would
involve following Betty across the Atlantic Ocean.

Even though we're clear on the other side of the world and our relationship has turned another significant corner,
some things never change.

Betty is still taking care of me.

Right now, even though it's the middle of the night, she's out stocking up on extra supplies. Mostly for me, until she deems
me well enough to go back to my own flat. Concussions are nothing to mess around with, she'd said, once the paramedic
that she'd called, checked me over, given her some advice on home care, and left.

The doze I'd been successfully falling into is abruptly upended as a nearby phone rings. My cell? Betty's landline? Was it
Betty's business partner, Lindsay Dunne? Or was it Betty herself and she was stuck somewhere and needed help?

Slowly turning my head, I finally realize it's my phone going off. And I also realize that, even though I don't recall laying it
down in that spot, my phone is located on the kitchenette counter. Which is clear across the room. Well... Fuck.

I quickly shrug out from underneath Betty's spare coverlet, trying to untangle myself from its heavy embrace. The sudden
change in posiition makes the blurry vision from earlier return with a vengeance. As did not-really-swaying swaying furniture.
The medic had warned me that this might happen. He also had said that loud noises would play a real number on my head.
Tension headaches and migraines would be the new order of the day. At least for the next fortnight.

Using my hand as a more assured guide across the room, I grasp onto first the coffee table, then the long dining table, running
my right hand along it, just in case I stumble, and slowly, steadily make my way across the gap between the table and counter.
The melon green walls fade into a muted gray backgound, as I narrow my focus down to the one shiny red object I'm coming
for: my cell phone. I successfully snag it on what would've been the call's last ring, answering it while practically collapsing
onto the bar stool in front of me and then almost immediately slumping forward over the countertop.

"Hello?" An unusual crack in my voice telegraphs the pain in my head to whoever is on the line's other end. Not good.

"It's me, Daniel. It's your mother. You sound terrible. Is everything all right?"

Automatically, my ears perk up as the indomitable Claire Meade makes her entrance into my new life. Subconsciously,
I find myself straightening up and shifting into a more correct posture. Even before I know what I'm doing. Even if we're
not on Skype. And even though she's over three thousand miles and seven hours away. But, old habits die hard. My
ironclad grip on the edge of Betty's counter remains, however, keeping me from falling from my awkward perch.

I force an extra bit of zeal that I don't quite feel into my voice, just so I don't cause worry to bubble up within her too.
"Oh! Hey, Mom. Everything's fine. I'm just a little bit tired. Sorry I haven't called you. I've been pretty busy here."

"I bet. Well, have you found her yet?"

"Her who?" I ask innocently. I really don't want to get dragged into this conversation right now, especially so soon
after Betty and I have decided to try this relationship thing out. I don't want to jinx it by involving anybody from back
home. It just doesn't feel right. Not yet. Not until we're absolutely sure this is the path we're going to pursue together.

"Don't play coy with me. You never have been a very good liar. And you know exactly who I am talking about..."

"Betty? Yeah," I grumble. Unable to lie. "Yeah, I found her."

"How is she doing then? Don't keep me in suspense."

"She's positively glowing, mother. It's remarkable really. When I saw her, I hardly recognized her. She's already
soaking up the London atmosphere. She's absoluetly radiant..."

I'm gushing, I know. It's like something has knocked my mouth loose from my brain. Probably a very heavy, solid
somehing. So, apparently, with the resulting concussion, I'm gonna be a lot more prone to rambling than normal.
Luckily, my mom already has another question on her lips. So, she stops me mid-monologue to ask it.

"And how did it go when SHE actually saw YOU?"

"Actually... It went better than expected. We had a nice, long chat. I apologized. She accepted. And we even shared a meal."

"Well, that's wonderful, darling."

I hurried on. Eagerly intent on skipping the kiss and its unexpectedly bumpy aftermath, not wanting her to either
jump the gun about the brand-new situation happening between Betty and I or worry about my very recent assault.
Much like Betty, she already has enough to worry about, without me adding to her woes. "So, that's enough about
me. How are things back there? Is MODE's latest transition going smoothly?"

"Surprisingly well. Wilhelmina is basking, of course. But, she's turned a corner. No more schemes. Or at least none that
have directly affected me. She's even happy. Though I don't know why, as in if it's just because she's now the sole EIC,
or if there's something more. Marc is preening too, if a bit more discreetly. He's been installed as the new Creative Director.
And Tyler is..."

I can still hear my mom speaking, telling me about all the people that we mutually know, and the new way of things,
but my brain has officially checked out as to what she's actually saying. So, instead of words, all I hear is white
noise. My vision is darkening around the edges. Like an uncontrollable version of tunnel vision.

I groan in response, a low, gutteral noise that she immediately picks up on, as if I'd been right next to her.

"Are you sure there's nothing amiss, darling?" I hear mild concern, but it's also already deepening into a more moderate worry.

"Still got a bad case of jetlag. I think it's finally catching up to me."

"Well, then, get some rest, son. Call me if you need anything else..."

She was, after all, the one who'd helped me get a red eye plane ticket to London. After I'd finally quit being such an ass, that is.

"Thanks, Mom. I will."

"Oh! And please tell Betty that I said 'Hello.'"

"Will do."

"Love you."

"I love you too. Have a good night."

"You too."

Click.

Well, that conversation also went well. All things considered. Now, I just need to make my way back to Betty's sofa before
she returns. I look over to my right. And immediately wish I hadn't. The gap between her couch and this stool - manageable
only fifteen minutes ago - now looks impossibly large. Like the couch is London and I'm still in New York.

Also, the room is sloshing about, like Betty has a houseboat on the River Thames. But, I know that can't be right. She's in an
apartment building that's not even in sight of the Thames. In...Islington...I think. It's like I have a hangover. Only worse. And
pulling information, even BASIC information that I already know, from my own head is getting increasingly tough, instead of
being simply nudged with the expected ease...

Slipping off the bar stool, I drag my phone with me before starting my trek back to the couch.

I wind up in the middle of the room. No longer upright. I don't remember sinking down to my hands and knees on the floor. But,
that's where I currently find myself. Everything's full-tilt spinning again and I list sideways, trying to prop myself up on anything
nearby. Turns out there's just air. And the dull thump that closely follows that move is me hitting the carpet on my left side.

The spinning sensation abruptly stops and the nausea that had been building begins to recede once more.

The jangle of keys brings me out of my doze this time.

"Hey, I'm back. Sorry it took so long. You wouldn't believe the amount of people that were at Tesco's... Wait. What are you doing
on the floor?! What happened to you promising me you were going to stay on the couch until I got back? Did you hit your head?"

"The phone was ringing. Thought it was you. Wasn't." The dull throbbing from earlier has racheted up to a constant vice-like
pressure. My head is absolutely killing me. And just like that I'm back to short, choppy fragments of speech. "Please don't yell."

Thankfully, she doesn't yell, but her rapid-fire questions are little better for my brain's currently reeling condition.

"Who was it then? I'm hoping that whoever they were, they were really important. Because you could've gotten even more hurt
and fallen down again. What am I saying? You DID fall down again...Did you hit anything on the way down?"

Ignoring her last pointed questions, I take a stab at answering the first. "Actually, Betty, it was my mom."

That single admission drains the mild anger right out of Betty's face, along with any other color that she might have also had there.
Only for the rapid-fire cadence of her frazzled voice to continue barely a second later, albeit with a different context in mind.

"Does she know what happened? Does she think we should stop kidding ourselves? Throw in the towl already? Did you tell her
you were mugged and staying at my place temporarily? What am I saying? This is Claire Meade. Of course, she knows..."

Struggling upwards, first to sitting, then to kneeling, at last to standing, I vertically climb, and put my hands on her shoulders,
to simultaneously comfort her and support my still-unsteady body.

"Whoa. Whoa. Whoa! Slow down, Betty! She's not going to disapprove. She loves you. You're like the wonderfully sane family
member that she always wanted, but never had. If there's one person who's always been in your corner, it's been her. Even
when I wasn't. Besides, I didn't tell her yet. I wanted to respect your privacy as much as possible, especially since this was
her first call to me since I left the States. And the last thing I want is for her to be worried enough to hop a red-eye flight across
the entire ocean just because of my little acident and a mild concussion. So, I simply chose not to reveal that little detail either."

"The medic said it was closer to moderate, Daniel, not mild. But, go on. So, what exactly DID you tell your mother?"

Betty's giving me a stern look that says we're sooooooooo gonna have another long talk about my continued state of well-being,
or lack thereof, but not until after she's cooled down some and I'm no longer looking a bit like death warmed over. Good thinking,
Betty, because I sooooooooo do not feel like getting into a huge argument just a scant few hours after our first kiss. That would
really kill the mood and ruin everything before it'd ever even really gotten started.

"Well, I just told her that I found you and apologized and that you graciously accepted. And that we shared a meal," I explain,
leaving out my earlier fawning about the changes I've noticed since seeing Betty again.

"Oh... Okay. Well, that's all right then. I guess."

Tentative acceptance. That, I can work with. Well, that and some pain meds. Those would REALLY hit the spot right now.

As if reading my mind, Betty carefully guides me back to the couch and produces some of her bounty. She retrieves a small
botle of something called paracetamol from her shopping bag and places it on the coffee table within my reach.

"What's that?" I ask, nodding to the bottle now sitting in front of me.

"It's like the British version of Tylenol. It should help with your headache."

"Small miracle."

"No. The small miracle is that you didn't wind up spending the whole night laid up in that alley. Good thing I called to check up on you
after you left. Otherwise..."

"...I'd be at my flat nursing myself back to health? And with no too-cute Latina girlfriend anywhere around either."

"Silly goose."

"Well, bumps to the head always make me a bit silly. I'd say 'ask my mother', but she's busy dealing with MEADE Publications and
all the various things which THAT process currently entails."

"Okay, so...You're really serious abou this then? Leaving MODE, moving here...being with me. All of that. You're sure you won't wake
up tomorrow and run away, thinking that us together was just a horrible, head-injury-induced, not-to-ever-be-repeated mistake?"

"I didn't come all the way across the Atlantic Ocean just to say goodbye to you all over again, Betty Suarez. THIS is as real as it gets.
WE are as real as it gets. And no amount of headache is ever going to change that. I'm 1000% sure."

"Good. So am I. I'm just so happy that you're here..."

"...So, now what?" I grin, leaning over slightly towards Betty, hoping to make myself a little more aquainted with her lips.

"Now...I'll be right back. Going to change into something more comfortable." She lets out a sweet giggle that literally drives me bananas
in all the best possible ways, what with all of its cuteness, and then does her Betty dance into what I can only assume is her bedroom.

Ah. Foiled again. For now, anyway.

Distantly, but not TOO distantly, I hear the shower start up. Betty's shower.

I sigh and close my eyes, letting the distant humming of Betty and the distant roar of the running water push me under.

I wake up in a hospital.

I never do anything by halves, do I?

Betty knows this. Betty always knows.

xxxxxxxxx
THE END
xxxxxxxxx

Ending Author Notes: Abrupt ending be damned, I DO have a proper sequel to this planned. You'll see...Amongst
much more Detty (Yay!), that creepy cricket bat guy will also FINALLY get his comeuppance (Double Yay!).