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. Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews (and for guilt-tripping me into updating sooner than I had expected to, lol). No, honestly, you guys are awesome and I can only hope you enjoy this chapter . . .

Chapter Two

"Feeling any better?" Daniel asked from across the table.

Three espressos and Betty was wired enough to climb Mount Everest bare foot. Was she feeling any better? Temporarily so, yes. Would it last? Unlikely.

"Much," she answered with a half-truth.

Daniel grinned, "Liar."

Betty attempted to mock glare at him but could only manage a grimace as the all too familiar pangs of her monstrous headache started to resurface.

Daniel's grin quickly fell from his face; concern flitting across his face again for what was possibly the seventeenth time in the space of twenty minutes.

They had stumbled their way across the Manhattan roads, and courtesy of Betty's hangover induced complete lack of coordination, had had the joyous benefit of being on the receiving end of a few choice expletives yelled from the filthy mouths of several irate cab drivers.

He had pulled her along the sidewalks, winding their way through the throngs of morning workers who were in too much of a rush to even notice the odd pair. She had grumbled the whole way – something about there being a coffee place much closer to the Meade Publications offices and being too tired to walk any further.

Daniel had only replied with, "The fresh air will help."

She may have been hung over but she wasn't brain dead enough to point out that the roads of Manhattan were hardly the best providers of 'fresh' air, not with the thousands of cars squashed together like sardines in a tin, churning out gallons of toxic, air polluting gases.

Daniel had merely shook his head, given her a peculiar smile and continued on with their marathon of a trek.

Once they'd got to their destination, however, Betty found she could hardly fault the man's taste. How he was aware of this quaint little coffee shop, tucked away and hidden behind the overpowering sky scrapers and dreary office buildings, she could hardly guess.

But the enticing smell of freshly made coffee soon put that thought on the back burner.

And now here they were. Three coffee cups later, and Daniel was still wearing the same expression he'd been sporting for so long that he was now endanger of permanently fixing his facial muscles as they were.

"Daniel I'm fine," she muttered through a sigh, jumping the gun on the question she was ninety nine point nine percent sure he was going to ask.

"Of course you are," Daniel nodded disbelievingly.

Betty decided to ignore the suggestion behind his tone and change the subject entirely, "Shouldn't we be getting back to work, I mean we've still got a lot to do to finalise next month's issue-"

But it seemed Daniel was going to have none of it as he quickly swept away her attempts to shift the spotlight from herself with a dismissive wave of the hand and the words, "We've got plenty of time."

But he didn't stop there; shifting slightly in his seat he asked, "So what exactly were you doing last night to get yourself such a monster of a hangover?"

Betty could feel the heat creeping up her neck and on to her cheeks, "Drinking."

Daniel let himself a small chuckle, "Why?"

"And why do I need a reason to go out and have fun once in while?"

"You don't," Daniel said, "But then it's not like you to drink yourself into oblivion."

No, but it's not everyday you find out your boss is supposedly in love with you.

She was half tempted to spit those words out, but then the thought of the horror she would then have to face if Christina's little hypothesis was indeed correct, or worse, entirely wrong, shoved its way to the forefront of her mind, and she could only respond with an abominable lie:

"I was thinking about Henry."

She instantly recoiled as the words left her mouth; though she attempted to console herself with the fact it was partially true.

Henry had left for Tucson, bound for his baby and Charlie, nearly eight months ago. And she had succumbed to a state of mourning for nearly a month after that well calendared date, before it was Daniel in fact who, having had quite enough of her moping around, had forcibly attempted to shake her out of her melancholic catatonia.

He had planted himself outside her door at ten in the evening one night, and with all the tyranny he could muster, proclaimed they were going to a wedding and the only response available was one of wholehearted agreement.

There were numerous weddings crashed that night, sickening amounts of cake eaten, pizza and terrible karaoke and, last but not least, a 5am trip to Brooklyn Bridge. It was a repeat of that night; only difference being the reversal of roles.

And she had laughed and she had smiled. And though she never wanted to admit it, she was pretty sure he had stolen just another tiny little piece of her broken heart as he had laughed along with her on that bridge.

And so yes; she had been thinking about Henry. It was a ridiculous fact that she would always find herself wondering just what her life would be like now if Henry had made a different choice then. She supposed she used to think her life would feel just that little more complete, and as sappy as it sounded, as if that elusive 'something' wasn't missing. But it had struck her last night, amidst the gulping down of shots of vodka and bottles of wine, and as Christina's words had swam mercilessly in her brain, when theoretically her thoughts should have been an uncomprehending blur, it had struck her that she no longer felt that way. Henry had become lost in a crowd of hazy faces and she found she no longer missed him.

She supposed she had the man sat right in front of her to thank for that.

The man who had told her that time healed all wounds; that of all people he should know, having had first hand experience, and that she would move on. As hard as it was to imagine, when the time was right and when she'd least expect it: he would be there.

The words buzzed around in her ears as she watched a flicker of sadness dim his eyes and a small, barely audible, sigh leave his lips.

And then with a grace she hadn't expected, he seamlessly landed his coffee cup on the table, stood up and then, as she watched wide eyed, reached out and offered her his hand.

"Come on," he said, soft, gentle and oddly undemanding.

Unsurprisingly, she didn't hesitate.

Her hand grasped his tight, and though she had no idea where he was leading her this time; she found she didn't care.

A/N 2: I realise this chapter wasn't quite as light as the first one, but it was necessary and anyway, whatever Mr Plot Bunny says, I do, because I'm hopeless like that, I really am. Please review and let me know your thoughts on this chapter, because I, personally, am not really sure what to make of it.

SmilinStar

xxx