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: Once again I am overwhelmed by your kindness. Your reviews are so lovely and gratefully received – so thank you ever so much. I also wanted to say that a few readers have suggested that I write a chapter from Daniel's POV. Now, trust me when I say, that I myself have been grappling with the urge to write from Daniel's POV, because well angsty Daniel is just too darn fun to write, but this story is really about Betty's journey and discovery – and if I write from Daniel's POV, it'll give it all away. I'm sorry if that disappoints because I really don't want to disappoint you wonderful people, but I'm going to stick to my original plans and hopefully you'll all enjoy it anyway. Okay, enough of the rambling . . .
Chapter Five
She honestly didn't know why it was bothering her so much.
Her sleepless night had only been followed by several hours spent awake, eyes wide open, unmoving, rarely blinking, as morning light filtered its way through the net curtains of her bedroom window. Her brain had failed to switch off, thinking a mile a minute on a fast speed train that showed no inkling of slowing down any time soon.
She was vaguely aware that her alarm clock had rung nearly an hour ago; her hand having reached out to thwack the off button like an automaton programmed for the repetitive and mundane, only to return back to her zombified state of staring up at the ceiling.
Her father had called her to breakfast fifteen minutes ago but she hadn't moved a muscle. Her energy being zapped by her brain as she tried to figure out why Daniel's impromptu and previously unannounced date last night was bothering her like a pesky mosquito that refused to take 'die' for an answer.
'Why does it bother you so much?'
She was way past the point of wanting to throttle Christina and her recent new pastime of stalking her sleeping and waking thoughts with aggravatingly loaded yet innocently spoken words. But she had to concede this much – that particular question was a fair one.
Why indeed.
The only feeling she could tap into and unwillingly admit to - her emotions playing with her and making this that much harder - was a lingering, unwanted and aching disappointment. Her wandering mind desperately clamoured for the suggestion that disappointment equalled jealousy; and in a convoluted yet crystal clear circle, it all made perfect sense.
This much was obvious; Christina was wrong.
Daniel was not in love with her – his date with another nameless, faceless, leggy blonde model made that doubtlessly plain. And if, as logic argued, she was disappointed, it meant she was disappointed by the fact that Daniel wasn't in love with her; and if that truly were the case, the only logical conclusion was that she had wanted it to be true.
The uncomfortable, ever present, searing sensation that burned and bubbled away inside her finally had a name.
Jealousy.
Oh yes. That ugly word, perpetually tinged in a sickly green hue – the incredible Hulk of all emotions.
She groaned out loud as she pushed away her bed covers; and with a pointless moan of protestation she clambered out of bed.
She knew she was running late but that didn't make her legs move any faster in the general direction of the shower as she slowly lifted her glasses onto her face, the plastic red temples partly tangling in her disarray of dark hair before she felt them fit snugly behind her ears.
And when she had finally forced herself to move from her spot many minutes later, she realised she may as well have had the words 'denial plus avoidance equals one spineless chicken' scrawled across her forehead for the entire world to gawk at.
She groaned again.
Today was going to be a long day.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
"You're late."
"Yes thank you, Amanda," Betty sniped, uncharacteristically sullen and irritable, not that the blonde receptionist before her was truly paying any attention anyway, "I know how to tell the time."
"Really?" Amanda smirked, it could have been a smile but as was always the case with Amanda, it was near impossible to tell, "So why are you late?" All the emphasis was on that four damned letter word.
Betty huffed, turning and making her way round the circular white desk, "I don't think it's any of your business."
Amanda shrugged, "Maybe not. But it's definitely Daniel's."
She was hopeless. She really was. Being such an easy target, so easily played; if it was any other day she may have felt slightly ashamed – but today wasn't that day;
"What?"
Now that smirk made a seamless transition to catty smugness. And Betty was fast losing what was left of her patience, "Amanda?"
"Daniel's been tearing down the entire building looking for you and," she stopped for unnecessary pause and a lame attempt to build the tension, "he's not happy."
The front desk phone rang just then, Amanda gave Betty one last sneering smile and picked up the phone.
Betty took an instinctive deep breath in and took a few steps forward in the direction of Daniel's office. She gave Amanda one last look over her shoulder and with just enough time to see her draw one slickly painted finger across her neck and then wind it casually, deliberately, around the coiled telephone cord.
Betty shook her head.
Amanda was just teasing her. Like always.
Daniel couldn't be that mad at her for being an hour . . . two hours late.
Ok so maybe he could.
Unless it had absolutely nothing to do with her – maybe his date last night had gone disastrously wrong. She was momentarily stunned by the hope and distinct lack of guilt of thinking such thoughts that coursed through her. She wanted Daniel to be happy, she really did; and so her sudden aberrant flash of unsavoury yearning left her treacherously off kilter.
She rounded the corner slowly; her desk coming into view, her eyes, however, drawn instead to the large window that separated her from Daniel.
And to the man himself.
He wasn't sat at his desk.
He was standing.
With his back to her, staring out the window – his arms folded across his chest, the back of his blue shirt stretching between his shoulders blades, the fabric held taut.
Betty inaudibly, unconsciously gulped; her focus intent and unwavering on the ripples of blue fabric.
Glued to the spot, she was overwhelmed with a strange rush of emotion; the kind of feeling that made her pulse erratic, made it hard for her to breathe, and the kind that made her palms sweat uncontrollably.
She couldn't move.
He's in love with you.
She realised then, that though those words were false, it didn't distract from the real truth of the matter.
And though she had no idea when exactly it had happened, how she had been idiotic enough to let it happen, she realised that it didn't truly matter anyway.
It wasn't as if she could save herself now. It was too late. No one could save her. Not really.
The only person who could was him.
And he didn't love her.
Not the way she did him.
He saw her then. Turning away from whatever had kept him transfixed outside that large window, his eyes had somehow found hers through the glass pane of another.
She held his gaze. She couldn't have been sure but something akin to relief had flickered in his blue eyes, along with another emotion she couldn't quite place.
He moved out of sight a second later, only to reappear shortly outside his office door, taking a number of determined steps closer, "Betty?"
"Hi," she said, throat parched.
He ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, "Where have you been?" he let out in a rush, "I was worried."
With that little admission she was sure the mini cheering squad inside her had erupted in a fitful dance of unadulterated joy.
"I overslept."
Daniel frowned, "You could have rung."
Betty nodded, "I know. I'm sorry."
He sighed, smiled sadly before clearing his throat, "I need you to contact these people for next month's main feature spread," he handed her the piece of paper he had had scrunched up in his hand.
Betty nodded as she reached out to take the paper from him, her fingers ever so slightly brushing past his as she did.
She pulled away; the smallest, tiniest stretch of skin burning.
"Anything else?" she managed to ask, somehow keeping her pitch level.
"No that's all."
"Ok."
Daniel gave her one last look before turning away.
She didn't know what compelled her to blurt it out like word vomit, but there it was:
"How did your date last night go?"
Daniel turned back around, "Great," he grinned back at her.
She almost believed him, almost, but like the sneaky bastard it really was, it glittered in his eyes – the lack of emotion, conviction – a lie – hidden masterfully from an indifferent casual observer, but when subjected to someone as emotionally as invested as she was, hope didn't have a chance in hell of disappearing without a fight.
She smiled, bright and genuine, "Good. I'm glad."
A/N 2: Okey dokey then, a strange chapter I realise, and there weren't any massive leaps on the Daniel/Betty front, but there was hopefully enough there to make you happy – after all, Betty is no longing basking in the sun-baked land of Daniel Denial (omg, they're anagrams of each other, so cool . . . ahem); that's got to be good news right?
As always, I eat, sleep reviews. Please let me know your thoughts – I value every word,
SmilinStar
xxx