Title: "Como Fue"

Author: pineappleminivan.

Synopsis: A year later, Daniel reflects at Christmastime. A "what-if" soon to be made an Alternate Universe by new episodes.

Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own Ugly Betty, I'm just borrowing the characters. If you find something in here you'd like for your own story, go for it; just credit me somewhere.

Chapter 6

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Daniel called Betty the next day when he was walking along the shops in Manhattan.

"I was wondering if you would let me take everyone out to dinner tonight, instead of cooking in again," Daniel said. He stopped walking, dead in his tracks. "Wait! I mean, its not that I don't like your cooking. I mean, it's great. It's fantastic even. I mean, I love it. But what I'm trying to say is, would that be okay?"

"Daniel," Betty said, exasperated, "you are our guest. I mean, no, we can't let you pay for everything—"

"I thought we had agreed that the layer was on loan," Daniel said. "Other than that, you're the one helping me out. Just let me do this one thing—please?"

Betty sighed on the other end of the line. Daniel knew he had won.

"Fine," Betty said, "but this is it."

"Right!" Daniel said. "Great, I have reservations for Chappell's at eight.

"How did you get in Chappell's on Christmas Eve?" Betty said.

"I called in a favor," Daniel said.

"Alright, I'll pick everybody up at eight." Daniel said.

"Okay," Betty said hopefully from the other end of the line.

Daniel knew it wasn't manly to skip out of glee. But he really wanted to; all the way back to his office.

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"Hey, Daniel's taking us to Chappell's for dinner tonight, Betty said to her family early in the afternoon.

"The Chappell's? Justin said. "Really?"

"Yeah," Betty said. Justin squealed. "Yes!" he said.

He then stopped and looked at Betty.

"What are you going to wear," he said slowly.

"I thought maybe just that old black dress," Betty said.

"The funeral dress?" Justin asked.

"Hey!" Betty said, "It's nice."

"No, its hideous," Justin said. He stopped for a minute.

"Betty," he said, suddenly sounding more like the twelve-year-old he was than the sophisticate he always tried to be, "would it be okay if I gave you your present early?"

Betty looked at Justin quizzically.

"Sure," she said. "If you really want to."

Justin jumped up. "Yes!" he said. "This will be perfect for tonight," he said.

He ran into the living room and pulled a long present from the pile. It was wrapped perfectly. After all, it was from Justin.

He handed it to Betty. The box, despite it's size, was quite light. Betty pulled the wrapping paper carefully and opened the long white box.

Inside was a deep red fabric. She pulled at the fabric and realized it was a dress.

"Justin, what's this?" she asked.

She sat the box on the table and pulled out the floor-length red dress.

"I designed it and made it myself," Justin said, shyly. "I actually measured your funeral dress to get the right sizing."

"I can't wear, I mean, it's so—" Betty was stunned.

"Justin, you actually made this?" She could barely believe it; the stitching and fabric were so fine. "How much did it cost you?"

"Not that much, really," Justin said. "Mom gave me a little money."

Just then, Hilda walked by the door. She saw the look on Betty's face as she held the dress.

"You like it?" she asked.

"Yes," Betty replied, "but, I mean, I don't even know, I mean, how we're going to fit in and now we're all going to have dinner at Chappell's and—"

"What?" Hilda said, "seriously, tonight?"

"You aren't mad, are you?" Betty asked, "I mean, we always cook, but is this okay if we go?"

Hilda laughed. "Are you kidding? Of course—this is great." She suddenly stopped.

"Oh my God," she said. She looked at her son.

"Justin, this is going to take a while. Go get my curling iron." Justin nodded, as if he understood his mother's plan.

Hilda looked back at her sister.

"Betty, go shower. We've got some work to do," Hilda said.

"What?" Betty said. "What's going on?"

"Just go shower!" Hilda said. "We've only got five hours!"

"Why is my family insane?" Betty asked no one in particular.