A/N: Hi, everyone! I finally got around to updating this fic...not much left to go, since I'm on the last sense, which is touch. I'm basically going to break this section into two big parts. Part 1 of "Touch" is obviously this one. I'll post Part Two very soon. Speaking of touched, my reviewers blow me away as usual with your kind, kind words. I'm terribly sorry to leave you all hanging on so many fics, but I'll try to make it up to you ;)
I Touch Myself: Part 1
"They tried to make me go to rehab, I said no, no, no..." --Amy Winehouse
Things got really, really awkward after the Great Oatmeal Makeout Incident of '08.
Daniel didn't know about Betty, but it was killing him. And also Henry, who was too timid to confront Daniel face-to-face about why exactly his girlfriend had shown up to the movies that night looking like she'd been worked over by at least nine horny sailors, and settled instead for shooting him the Impotent Accountant Glare O' Death from afar.
Daniel, feeling the need to put his fist straight through his glass desk after Betty had yet again refused to make eye-contact with him, fervently wished Henry would come in here and try to make an issue of it.
His mood had been decidedly foul, and it was telling that the high point of his day was when he'd accidentally (or at least that's what he told Betty) dropped the f-bomb in front of a class of gawky, swooning junior high girls there on a field trip.
They'd shivered delightedly over how bad he was and then they all whipped out their camera phones, waving in a corny fashion like they were taking pictures with Tigger at Disneyland or something.
His ears had perked up when he'd heard one of them ask Betty breathily how she could work next to him all day and not just, like, die, but he couldn't hear her flustered mumble of a cop-out response.
He rested his chin on his clasped hands and resumed staring at Betty through the fishbowl. She knew he was watching her—her spine was ramrod straight, her eyes were trained hard and fast on the monitor's screen, and she answered the phone with a brusqueness that would only really be appropriate for Sergeant McSadist barking out orders to her troops. Daniel had, in fact, received several questions about this, the general gist of which being "When and how did Betty get so damn weird?"
Oh, I dunno, guys, after we sucked face on my bed while I was half-clothed and Betty was trying to force-feed me plant products and we were both about to totally do it.
Normally, he'd have noted her tense posture, pressed the intercom button, and asked her to remove the corncob from her ass. And she'd have cheekily responded that he was damn lucky to have that corncob because otherwise jack would get done.
But not today. No, today Betty would probably respond by either bursting into tears or throwing up, which would cause him to either burst into tears or throw up.
He noticed that she was glancing up at him now in little nervous intervals, which meant she had to walk into his office herself to tell him something instead of foisting it off on an intern.
She finally stood up and Daniel rapidly looked away, knowing that if she felt his intense gaze on her she'd never make it over. It was a bit like coaxing a small woodland creature to eat from his hand.
She came over and stood stiffly in front of his desk. "Your therapist called. She had a family emergency and wants to know if you could possibly move your appointment up to 2 o'clock."
Daniel leaned back and crossed his arms. "How about we reschedule it for when the big hand reaches 'never' and the little hand reaches 'again.' The whole shrink idea was yours, not mine."
Daniel was actually relieved to see the look of irritation cross Betty's face. Folding her arms in a gesture that mimicked his own, she said, "Daniel, we've been through this. You have a woman for every night if the week, at least. It's a miracle you haven't gotten the crabs yet." Daniel moved to speak and she held up a halting finger. "Do not EVER tell me."
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "You need help, if last night was any indica--," she stopped abruptly, a mortified look on her face.
She focused on a dust bunny rolling lightly around on the carpet, a beautiful blush rising from her neck to her cheeks. She cleared her throat. "Well, she's waiting on the line. What should I tell her?" Her voice was as delicate as a silken thread.
Daniel ignored her question and stood, stepping out from around his desk purposefully. It was all Betty could do to keep from bolting. Ladies and gentleman, in case of approach from sexy Editor-in-Chief whose apartment you practically did the Walk of Shame from last night, please note the neon "Exit" signs over each set of doors…
He took her face in his hands and forced her to look up at him. "Is that what you think last night was about? That you were just something in a skirt to feed my so-called sex addiction?" He snorted in disgust. "God, you really don't know me after all. Betty," he whispered her name with a desperation that made her start, "I would take an Uzi to any bastard who even vaguely entertained the notion of hurting you, including myself…especially myself."
Touched despite herself, Betty felt the tears welling up. Her head throbbed painfully. Swiping hastily at her eyes, she fervently wished she could go back to the days when all boys had cooties and that was simply that.
"I know all this, Daniel. I do." She glanced over her shoulder to see Amanda perched on her desk; she was pretending to poke around in the petty cash drawer, but Betty knew she was being totally nosy. Amanda wasn't nearly as stupid as she seemed.
Betty grimaced outwardly, although she was more than a little relieved that Amanda was coming in handy for once. "It's just…can we do this when we don't have an audience of the blonde bulimic variety?" she whispered, indicating Amanda with a jerk of her head.
"Fine. But later, we're talking. I don't care if I have to follow you back to Queens and your dad takes a .45 to me. I won't lose you. I can't," Daniel ground out.
Betty solemnly nodded and turned to leave the office, the enchiladas she'd eaten for lunch doing a Mexican hat dance around the scrambled eggs that were breakfast. "I'll tell her you're on for two," she called over her shoulder.
Daniel smiled a little. It was but a shadow of Betty's usual bossy nature, but he'd take what he could get.
Betty slid into her chair and didn't meet Amanda's eyes, although she could feel the other woman's green, mascara-coated peepers burning a hole through the side of her skull.
"Be careful."
Betty looked up, fully expecting to see a nude lip gloss-coated smirk in place.
There was none…only a sincerity far more unnerving than any mocking Amanda had ever given her.
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The therapist couldn't say Ms. Suarez hadn't warned her. She sighed deeply and tried once again to garner a coherent response out of the sullen, beautiful creature before her.
"Okay, Daniel, once more without the attitude. Why do you think you're here?"
"So I can get Betty off my back." He gave the Rubik's Cube another futile twist and the therapist tried her best to remain objective as that hot, hooded, basilisk blue gaze fastened on her for a moment.
Like everyone else hired by Mode, the therapist had a willowy, frail, exotic beauty, so much so that her cats-eye red glasses made her look less like a licensed professional and more like one of those Hot!Librarian birthday strippers. Daniel would know. He marveled at the fact that a couple of years ago, he'd have had her bent over her desk by now. But a lot had changed. So much so, in fact, that the only reason he found her remotely do-able now were those red glasses…
Which reminded him…
He pulled out his cell amidst her half-hearted noises of protest and help up a finger. This would only take a second.
Dear Betty, he rapidly texted, this sucks big monkey balls. Luv Daniel.
A few seconds later, his phone vibrated. Dear Daniel, the reply read, get over it, Pillhead. Love n' kisses—Betty.
Daniel found himself grinning widely. The therapist cleared her throat. "Why are you here, Daniel?"
He sighed. He'd already determined that he wasn't going to bang her, so even that potential benefit of this therapy was lost to him. He might as well let out a little of the toxicity that had been slowly accumulating within him. He hadn't been an outright, deliberate asshole in a long time, but sweet holy Moses on a marshmallow, did he hate this touchy-feely Dr. Phil-type shit. He was like his father in that respect, if nothing else.
"So I can sit around in this ratty-ass chair playing with myself, apparently. What?"
"So you can kick your pill addiction, yes, but that's only the tip of the iceberg. We need to explore why you feel the need to turn to substances and sex in the first place. My assessment? You're lonely. You need human contact."
"Uh…you must not read Page Six."
"I don't mean random screwing. I mean genuine connection with another person."
Daniel sneered. "So, what, I need a hug? Get myself a Tickle-Me-Elmo?" Hahahahahaha! That tickles!
He shuddered.
"In a word, yes. Studies show that infants who feel the most loving human touch grow up to be healthier. It has its benefits. What about Betty?" Daniel sat bolt upright, but the therapist was still engrossed in her notes on his psyche.
"Betty?" he choked out, like he'd never heard the name before.
The therapist inwardly grinned. This was going to be easier than she thought. She kept her voice casual. "Well, I'm only saying so because I've been keeping a tally here of the number of times you've said her name in the last half-hour. You're currently up to twelve…which is telling, considering our conversation—none of it—has actually been about Betty."
Daniel turned his face away from her gaze and tilted his head back, hoping it conveyed "aloof" rather than "OhdearsweetbabyJesusshe'sontome!"
"Grasping at straws, much?" he drawled. "Betty's my assistant. She assists. In order to assist me she's got to be around me All. Day. Long. Viola. Mystery solved, I need a drink, and can I go now?"
The therapist ignored him. She'd done her thesis on filthy rich spoiled-brat man-children. Sooner or later, their artificial "family" of glamorous sycophants started to seem somewhat shabby and fractured. This usually occurred in their early thirties when a man generally begins to think of settling down.
Despite his attitude, which was no-care-ish, smarmy, and tough-guy by turns, she could tell quite easily that Daniel wasn't a cruel bully or a sociopath that would kill his mother for a little prescription medication.
Neither was he a lost cause.
He was on the move, striding toward the door, leather blazer fitting him like a second skin and stretching taut over his muscles when he moved.
This Betty Suarez was a lucky girl.
"Your assignment is to spend some time with Betty outside of work," she called after him.
"I'll have to catch her first," he muttered, too low for her to hear.
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As it turned out, "catching" Betty was much more daunting a task than he initially thought.
For one thing, those short little legs, half the length of his own, carried her with lighting speed into the cafeteria and Closet with Christina, to the circular desk to "visit" with Amanda, to Accounting to make smoochy faces at Henry, and to Alexis's and even Wilhelmina's respective offices…basically anywhere Daniel wasn't.
He finally bit the bullet and got her cornered in the ladies' room.
She was standing at the sink brushing her hair and didn't see him slip quietly up behind her.
She was wearing that pensive expression, brows wrinkled, lower lip slightly tucked under the top one in a pout. He realized that he loved that look second only to her sweet, open smiles. She was gazing into the mirror but not out of vanity. Daniel suspected it didn't even register in her mind that she was looking at herself. His Betty's brain was always on more important matters than mere appearances, anyway.
He watched each black silky strand fall from the brush's bristles and land lightly onto her shoulder. Not thinking, just caught up in the Betty!moment, his fingers moved of their own violation, almost touching, almost…
"Whoa!" he said, catching himself seconds before he'd begun stroking Betty like a child would a petting-zoo llama.
Betty, caught unawares, shrieked and spun around.
"Daniel!" she breathed, unnecessarily. He saw fear give way to an exasperated anger that was familiar. "You know, for an editor of a magazine, you sure have trouble comprehending the words 'ladies room.'"
She saw the tired, crestfallen look on his face and was immediately sorry for being such a creepy bitch all day long. Last night was partially her fault as well…it took two to play illicit grab-ass on the bed, after all.
"I'm sorry," she said, kissing two fingers and pressing them against the side of his face. Having been rewarded by one of those little cheeky half-grins, she said, "So, how was therapy?"
He shrugged and Betty fought the urge to squish him. "Second verse, same as the first, a little bit longer and a whole lot more boring. So," he said, aiming for casual, "how about dinner tonight at Meade Manor? Just you, me, mom, and Alexis?"
"I wouldn't want to intrude…" she began softly, and Daniel snorted.
"Oh, come on. Mom keeps insisting on the family Meade—or what's left of us—getting together and bonding. Except it's usually less with the bonding and more with the not-so-covert glances at Dad's empty spot. Trust me, your presence would give us something in common at least…we're all very fond of you."
Betty felt a tug at her heart. Whatsoever Bradford may have lacked in the fatherhood/husband department, he was missed more than a little. She even found herself looking for the old coot's broad shouldered form and silver crown of hair behind the desk whenever Daniel sent her to Alexis's top-floor office. But of course, there was only Alexis, no less intimidating for her blonde ringlets and filmy blouses.
"Okay, thanks. Count me in." She nodded firmly, accepting the offer.
Daniel's megawatt grin could've powered the NYC transit system for a decade. 'See you at eight, then." He winked at her and was gone.
Betty stood glued to the spot, tempted to giggle madly like the pubescent schoolgirls earlier.
Oh. My. God. He winked at me, OH MY GOD, did you see it?!
Yeah, well, he put his arm around me…I'm SO not bathing ever again…
Betty shook her head to clear it. It wasn't that she was shy or uncomfortable around the Meades. Far from it. She saw more of them than she did her own blood relatives these days. At one time she may have stood in awe of their powerful publishing empire, but now that she'd had a front row seat for all their crazy, she saw them simply as flawed but decent human beings instead of demigods.
One in particular was tragically flawed and a great deal more than just "decent."
When it came to Daniel, her heart had passed the point of no return, had stopped briefly for snacks and gas, and had continued on its merry way into oblivion, leaving her intellectual, common sense side cursing and choking in its dust.
He was Daniel Meade.
He'd winked at her.
Damn.
So next down the chute is the grand finale, which will involve--you guessed it--touch. Hmmm, might have to bump up the rating to a nice solid "M."
Reviews, maybe? Please? :D