Hypotheses of the Unverifiable Kind

Disclaimer: Ugly Betty does not belong to me. I'm just borrowing the characters for my own personal, obsessive needs . . .

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Daniel/Betty

Summary: 'Exactly what were you supposed to do when you found out your boss may just be head over heels for you? Prove it, of course.' Hopelessly Daniel and Betty . . .

Author's Note: Wow the response to the last chapter had me churning out this one faster than I had expected. Thank you for the reviews – I always knew feedback was a great motivator. Hope you guys enjoy this one . . .

Chapter Seven

Her fingers drummed nervously on the spotless dark wood table; the red wine in her glass sloshing around the rim with her agitated movements.

Her sight was drawn to the elegant grandfather clock at the far end of the restaurant. With the passing of another second, the minute hand had just reached the twelve mark. It was now eight o'clock and he was an hour late.

Surprisingly she was only on her second glass of wine for the night – she had decided to go ahead and order something to drink, because well, she needed something to calm her down. And besides Daniel said he would be paying for it. She had argued with him that they would split the bill, but Daniel was of course having none of it. The feminist in her was indignant, her current bank balance was thankful. That was she would be thankful, if he ever turned up, and she wasn't embarrassingly 'off her face' drunk by then.

She was well aware she was risking a huge gamble by even setting up this dinner.

She knew Daniel was lying about this Jenny Jones woman. But she just wanted to know how much further Daniel was willing to take this, and perhaps more importantly, why he had felt the need to construct such an elaborate lie in the first place – and maybe, just maybe, somewhere along the way, as she indulged in taking on the persona of one Sherlock Holmes, she'd figure out just what exactly her beautiful, blue eyed boss really thought of her.

The only problem was she honestly hadn't devoted the adequate time needed to think this entire thing through. Instead she had leapt head first into a scenario which could end oh so very badly. She was never one to make rash decisions like this and it was, quite frankly, very disconcerting.

She blamed Hilda and Christina. Their exuberant exclamations of joy at Betty's confession, their wholehearted support of her sneaky plans to expose Daniel and their downright creepy investment in her love life had meant they had shown no sign of playing devil's advocate or even trying to talk her out of this terrible plan. No, as far as 'Operation Prove Daniel is in love with Betty' was concerned, it was full steam ahead . . .

T minus Twelve Hours

Hilda was sat on her bed, mouth hanging open and entirely incredulous – "Seriously?"

Betty grimaced. There was a reason she hadn't wanted to tell her sister. Love her she did, but Hilda had a particular penchant for shrieking when overexcited, and Betty's ears were still smarting from the high pitch assault.

But what it came down to, ultimately, was the simple fact she needed Hilda's help.

"Yes seriously," Betty said, lowering the tone of the conversation – she could do without her father knowing for the moment. Protective Ignacio Suarez was fearsome at the very least, and whilst Betty had no qualms that her father did indeed like Daniel (a lot) – what did play on her mind, however, was what he would make of Daniel as potential boyfriend material. But then he was nothing remotely of the sort yet as Hilda's shrieking continued and made that fact quite clear with the added distinct tone of disbelief;

"You and Daniel?"

"Hilda will you please keep it down!" Betty snapped.

"Seriously?"

Betty sighed, pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose and shuffled back further in her bed, "I don't know. Maybe."

"But you're in love with him?"

She nodded.

A grin spread across Hilda's face, wider than she had seen it in a very long time, "I knew it!"

Betty groaned, "If everyone knew, why the hell didn't you people say something?"

Hilda opened her mouth to retort, but Betty cut her of, "Yeah, yeah, I wouldn't have believed you – yeah you're probably right. It's ridiculous is what it is, though."

"Why?"

"Oh you know why!"

"You know," Hilda said, entirely serious, "The only person who really has a problem with this is you. I just can't understand why you can't see what everybody else sees."

"And what's that?"

"It doesn't matter what you look like, what dress size you are, what car you drive, where you eat dinner every night, hell if you even eat dinner at all; what matters is who you are. And Betty who you are is someone smart, funny, kind and beautiful - someone who Daniel can a hundred percent fall in love with. You just have to let him."

Betty was silent; she was pretty sure a tear had just spilt over her lashes, her eyes blurring with the gathering of water behind her lids.

Hilda gave her a great beaming smile, unmistakeably proud of her rather eloquent speech, and said unabashedly, "Damn, that was deep."

Betty gave her a wet little cough in return, which was quite possibly a laugh, before wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"Ok so what do I do now?"

She was treated to another look of incredulity from her sister, "You go on this dinner date tonight, get Daniel to confess all, and then grab your man and live happily ever after," the perfunctory 'duh!' was silently tagged on to the end of her sentence – no sounding aloud required.

"Tonight?" Betty half squeaked in horror, "That doesn't give me much time to prepare!"

"Prepare for what?" Hilda said, "Betty you could take a whole year and you'll still never be prepared. You've got to go for it, before you change your mind."

Scepticism flittered across her face, along with its troublesome companions, doubt and hesitation.

With one firm hand on her shoulder, Hilda did her best to infuse a little resolve back into Betty's demeanour; "Go for it," she said again, firm and with no room for negotiation.

Betty nodded.

She was really going to do this.

T minus Ten Hours

He looked a little shell shocked.

Almost as if he hadn't believed her when she had brought the subject up the day before. Almost as if he had believed she wasn't going to go ahead with it and was going to let him off the hook so easily.

Her devious and entirely evil inner twin grinned – all her early morning fears were now a distant thought as she stared at him shifting nervously in his chair, his pen tapping against the paper in front of him, "Tonight?"

"Yep," Betty nodded, "I was thinking we should go to that new restaurant they've opened not far from here, you know the one we actually reviewed last month for Mode."

Daniel was just nodding mindlessly, not at all concentrating on what exactly it was she was saying. He had that glazed over look he sometimes had when she'd blather on about the insanity of models' diets, how dangerously skinny they were, etc, etc.

"So I made reservations for seven for the three of us-"

"Three?" Daniel blinked.

Betty rolled her eyes, "You, me and Jenny."

"Jenny."

"Yeah, Jenny," Betty laughed.

"Right," Daniel sighed, staring down first at his restless hands on top of his desk, and then finally at her, "Listen . . ."

Betty was positive her heart had just kick-started with an almighty thump, the force shuddering through her with that one particular word. He looked so serious, so terrified and she had to wonder whether this was it. Whether this was the moment she'd been waiting for, the moment when he would come clean about everything.

"Listen Betty, about . . ."

She was half tempted to scream, 'Just say it, damn it!' but she somehow managed to settle for a calm expression that softly urged him to continue. She wasn't entirely sure how she had managed to pull that one off, but there it was.

He held her gaze a second too long, before almost flinching away, running a tired hand through his hair, "Dinner sounds great, but I'm buying."

She felt like a bright red balloon deflating after being pricked by a particularly sharp needle.

It was painful.

"Daniel, there's no need. It was my idea, and-"

"Betty I'm buying. I think it's long overdue that I buy you dinner, anyway."

And as no amount of bargaining would change his mind, Betty was resigned to the fact that he was indeed paying for dinner and that maybe this was a very bad plan.

T minus Four Hours

"Seriously Betty, this was all I could find," Christina held the dress up by its hanger, the protective plastic wrapping still hanging loose over it.

"Everything else was bloody size zero; my thumb wouldn't fit in it let alone an actual human being."

Betty gave her a small, albeit grateful, smile as she took the dress from her, "Thanks Christina."

Hilda clapped her hands together like an overexcited four year old, "Go on. Try it on."

Betty grimaced, a knot tightening in the pit of her stomach as she desperately reeled backwards hoping there was a way out, but Christina and Hilda were never going to let her back down now. She was going to have to see this through.

And so she took the dress and walked into the bathroom – Christina and Hilda's smiles behind her, offering little comfort and doing nothing to ease her nerves . . .

---

She took the last sip of wine from her glass, her eyes drawn once again to the sneering clock face, taunting her with every minute that went by.

Sat there alone, she thought she could feel the eyes of every person in the restaurant staring at her. Laughing at her.

Her hands folded and unfolded the napkin in front of her of their own accord, keeping busy, self preservation or she'd be ripping her hair out by now with the terror.

It was approaching half eight and she couldn't help but think she was being stood up. Daniel had stood her up. Yet part of her couldn't, wouldn't, believe it. And then that brought with it a sickening panic.

What if something had happened to him? What if he'd been in another car accident? What if, what if . . .

She'd abandoned the disfigured napkin, only to resume a more furious tapping of her fingers against the hard surface of the table. A few heads of nearby customers turned and glared at her in irritation, but Betty was fast reaching full blown panic mode to pay any attention.

"Is there anything else I can get you ma'am while you wait?"

The waiter had appeared beside her again. He had been circling like a vulture for the last forty minutes, just waiting to pounce and give her table to waiting customers. She momentarily thought of going ahead and ordering some food just to spite the man, but her fighting spirit had been ebbing away, slowly but surely, along with her hard fought self-confidence for every second longer she had to sit there, alone.

With a heavy heart and the awful feeling of nothing but numbness as even the panic dissipated, she eyed her empty wine glass, and shook her head, "I think I'll just have my bill please."

The waiter inclined his head, before walking off.

Betty stared morosely after him. He was probably sighing in relief. Pig.

A few minutes later and Betty found herself pushing open the glass doors of the restaurant and on to the Manhattan streets. The night was cold and she cursed herself for not bringing anything more than the flimsy cardigan she had worn over her dress. She had battled with the urge to ring Daniel, ask him where he was, why he hadn't shown, but she had decided against it, knowing that as soon as she heard the dulcet tones of his voice through the receiver she would no sooner burst into tears and be reduced to a blubbering mess – all of Hilda's hard work undone.

She wouldn't allow herself to cry. Not yet.

She stood on the sidewalks, waiting for one of the yellow monstrosities that were this city's cabs.

What she hadn't expected as she stood there, however, was for a rather large black, very familiar looking car to roll to a stop right beside her.

She stood with her mouth slightly open, attempting to get her breathing back under control and not cry.

Whether it was sweet relief or the entire day's pent up emotion ready to break down that dam, or more likely the culmination of all of those things, she was no longer sure.

But what she did know was this:

He hadn't forgotten her.

A/N 2: Points fingers at the evil evil plot bunnies They made me do it. Honest. Ok, so I guess its no big surprise as to who finally decided to show up – and I'm not happy with him. Nuh uh. He's got some explaining to do . . . Also I hope that this chapter wasn't too hard to follow and understand – I spent ages yesterday trying to get the format right, but I'm not convinced this turned out particularly well.

Please review and share your thoughts. Cheers,

SmilinStar

xxx