To see disclaimer, see chapter one.

The Limit

I got dressed differently that morning, for two reasons. One was that my hands were shaking so bad I could barely button up my jeans, and the other was despite that nervousness, I could feel an eerie confident bravado building in my chest, swelling and growing by the minute.

I was going to ask Marc to move in.

Months ago, this thought would have made me cringe. Someone else in my apartment, messing with my specifically ordered movies (by category, then alphabetically), and, worst of all, there.

I hadn't lived with anyone else in years, and the just having the idea come into my head was a triumph of it's own. But it just felt, right. He was there most of the time anyway, and when I asked him why exactly that was, why he felt more comfortable on my decade-old plaid sofa than on his sleek black one in his apartment.

He simply said in response to this, "Plaid is the new black." and smiled that little-boy smile, his hair tousled, so unlike him.

I grinned at the memory and I checked myself out in the bathroom mirror, repeatedly tugging the blue fabric, arranging it just so as to not look like an utter slob. Oh, how I resented caring what people thought, when normally I was passed up, looked over, as no one ever thought much about me to begin with, I was certain.

But for once, I had someone to look nice for.

In fact, I kind of enjoyed dressing up now, not that I was going to tell Marc that. Ever since I shaved and (begrudgingly) squeezed myself into the only suit I owned, to show up at one the wedding of Wilhelmina and Bradford Meade, seeing his incredulous expression at my appearance made it all worth it.

However, it was my little secret. If he knew, I'd be shuttled to one party after another, forced to mingle with people I disliked, when in all reality my idea of a good time was just watching a movie with him, feeling cozy, safe.

Finally, after straightening my shirt for the umpteenth time, I walked down the stoop of my apartment complex and hailed a cab.

After giving the address of Mode to the somewhat bored and disgruntled driver, his eyes narrowing at me after realizing the location was across town, I settled back into the worn leather seat, letting my mind wander on the way over as images of spring passed by the windows.

Oddly enough, I wasn't stressing. Over anything, what I would say, what he would say, it all didn't matter. At least, not at this point. The act of just asking was such a big step, and honestly, I felt I could handle anything Marc said. He was full of surprises, but nothing he did really surprised me anymore. And that's saying something.

...

I walked up to Marc's desk, seeing him frantically messing with a great deal of papers, his hair a mess. At work. In front of people. Which should have been a red flag, a fairly large one.

"Hey there sexay," I said, popping my head over his computer.

He smiled, putting down the papers, "Hey Big-Tiny!"

I sighed, "Can you please work on a better nickname for me?"

"What? It's cute!" he cooed, putting his hands together, interlocking the fingers, "So, after work, let's meet at Prune, because if I don't get a parsley and dandelion salad I swear to BarbaraI'm going to throw a fit with the fury of a thousand queens." He smiled as he said the last two words.

Well, it's now or never, I thought.

"Move in with me." Blunt, but it got the point across.

"What-what did you say?" Marc asked, shocked as he moved his hands frantically over the keyboard of the computer.

"Move. In. With. Me." I said slowly, enunciating each word. Marc still had the expression of being shell-shocked, so I continued. "I mean, we spend all our time together anyway and it makes sense."

He sat back in his rolling chair, crossing his arms, "Um, hmm, I think we need to talk about that, because this deserves further discussion." His eyes were closing as he was saying this, a dead giveaway he was scared shitless. He did a nervous laugh as we stared at each other for a few seconds.

"Marc!" a shrill voice called out. Wilhelmina.

Marc snapped back into assisstant mode as he frantically grabbed multiple orange folders while calling out, "Coming Willie! God, this day could not get any crazier!" He laughed, "Busy busy busy busy busy, oh there's just so much to do!" Getting up, he started to back toward Wilhelmina's office, a flower vase in his right hand, " In fact, I don't think I can even do dinner tonight, um, we'll-we'll talk later, or tomorrow," he bumped into the wall as he said this, "and um, okay!"

With that, he quickly disappeared into the office. I'd been expecting that type of reaction, but it still hurt. I bit my lip, shaking my head in disappointment.

Saved by the bell indeed...

...

What I hadn't been expecting, although I should have, was that Marc would go M.I.A. It was only about three days, but it felt like weeks. No phone call, no text, no nothing.

He needs space, I reasoned with myself. I knew for Marc, something like this would be such a big step. But I realized during that amount of time that I'd never not seen him for more than a day or two. And as that time went on, my anger grew, as irrational as it was.

Finally, I realized I'd have to confront him in person. So once again, I took a cab down to Meade Publications Offices that Friday.

Waiting by his empty desk, I fiddled with my hands, my mood caught somewhere between pissed off and scared to death.

It was lunch hour, which meant everyone was off to God knows where not eating. So when I heard footsteps approach to my turned back, then abruptly stop and double back, I knew who it was instantly.

I turned around, Bingo.

"Marc," I said, he stopped and faced me, the look of a child who was just discovered stealing from the cookie jar on his face, before morphing it into an expression of surprise.

"Hey!" he said, an octave too high, "I didn't see you there!"

My anger flamed instantly. I loved this man, and he loves me, I know it. But for God's sake, this was not how people in love were supposed to act.

"Marc," I said as I approached him, " I asked you a really important question, and then you-you don't call me back for three days?"

"I-I'm so sorry," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder, "it has just been nonstop around here." He patted my chest with his fist on both syllables. "What with the-the blackmailing and the backstabbing and going on Pink Berry runs I've barely had the time to take the curlers out of my hair!" He fake-gasped, running his fingers through his hair, "Is one still back there?"

I took his arm down, looking in his eyes. "Why is the idea of moving in with me so hard?"

Marc bit his lip, "It's, it's just BIG. It's like signing for a kid, you know? I mean, how do you know it's the right time? Or what kind to get? I mean do you get Russian, Chinese, or stay local and do something South American? AND what if you're wrong and it clashes with your furniture? I-"

"Marc," I said, cutting him off. The embarrassment was almost too much to bear at this point. "You gave me your answer."

And with that, I walked away. I don't know why I didn't expect this, I guess Marc could still surprise me. Who knew?

...

After a few hours sitting alone in my apartment, my loneliness even more apparent by the sheer quiet of the place as I read over my photography notes for the shoot the next day. But my mind kept wandering to the coulda-should-woulda philosophy. I could have done so much different, maybe not even asked at all, then he would still be here. On the couch, groaning about how much basic cable bites and "Cliff, why don't you have Showtime? Everybody has Showtime."

But instead, here I am, alone again, shades drawn with a bowl of chips to comfort me.

Then, there was a quick noise, so quiet I barely heard it. It was a chiming sound, coming from my cell phone on the kitchen counter. I knew what it meant.

Message overload.

I bit my lip as I walked to the counter, my heartbeat somewhat accelerating as I flipped it open, calling my voice mail.

"You have twenty-seven messages." the automatic voice said. "Message one."

There was a beep, and I heard a small sigh on the other end, "Hey Cliff, it's Marc..."

...

A/N: Hey readers! I hope you liked this chapter, because I found the scenes for the episode on Youtube, so everything is accurate. Ever since the Ugly Betty finale on Thursday I've just been itching to write some UB. So maybe there will be another UB story in the near future, that is, if my new job doesn't completely take up my time, blah. Anyway, let me know what you think by clicking that little review button, thank you soooo much!