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: I know, so the last chapter was very evil of me, and so in thanks for putting up with me and those devious plot bunnies and of course for all those wonderful reviews, I give you this next chapter . . .
Chapter Eight
He stood staring at her.
The car door was still wide open, and she was even now half expecting some beautiful blonde glamazon of a model to elegantly slide out after him.
But she never did. In fact, no one had moved. No one had said a word.
He was just staring at her.
The heat from his stare had her blushing under the streetlights, her brain addled so that she couldn't even manage to scream out one angry, "You're late," at him.
The skirt of her dress fluttered around her in the wind – she could feel the fabric brushing against her bare legs. She was so cold, but she was oblivious to it; her skin instead prickling with heat as Daniel's gaze seemed to scour over every exposed stretch of skin, though in truth his eyes had never really once left her face. The deep purple fabric offset her natural olive skin tone, the neck line a modest V-shape with a hint of teasing cleavage on view.
She folded her arms tight across her chest, hugging them to her body almost in a gesture of protecting herself against him. And it was that which snapped Daniel out of his bizarre trance,
"I'm so sorry," he said.
The earnestness in his voice couldn't be denied, and while it may have dampened her anger, she was still upset with him. This wasn't how she had envisaged the night to go.
"You're late," she said, finally getting out the words she should have snapped at him as soon as he had gotten out of the car.
He didn't have a response to that.
Instead he stuffed his hands in his pockets, rocking on the heels of his feet, staring at a point just above and beyond her right shoulder.
"Where were you?" she asked, the cold tone of the words sounding alien, almost as if they were leaving the lips of a different person altogether.
He looked back at her, his eyes weary.
"Where's Jenny?" Betty asked the intonation and meaning clear.
She'd had a plan. Tease him mercilessly about this phantom woman, never giving away once that she knew the truth, pushing him to his limit, seeing how far he would go before he broke and confessed all.
But she just couldn't do it anymore, and with those two words she blew her own game plan to bits.
He knew she knew.
He sighed, ran a hand over his face, before nodding his head. He reached backwards and shut the car door, his gaze never once leaving her, "We should talk."
Betty couldn't help the wry laugh from leaving her mouth, "I think that's a good idea."
He bit his lower lip, and then awkwardly walked up to her.
Betty turned to face the same direction, and they both took hesitant steps forward, walking side by side, a few meagre centimetres away from brushing up against each other.
Betty resolved she wasn't going to be the first to say something.
This was Daniel's floor, so to speak.
The sidewalk was still bustling with people. People going home late from work, others out for late night shopping, out to eat with friends at one of the many restaurants that lined these roads. It wasn't the ideal place for this conversation, and they both realised it.
Daniel changed direction then, and Betty didn't have to say a word. She knew where he was heading and her heart sped up, breath quickening as the numerous connotations of what such a purposeful manoeuvre meant.
His face was grim. She didn't know what it was. Determination, unease, fear – and it did nothing to settle her own anxiety, mingling with and muting her disappointment, anger and relief.
Maybe it was the anticipation and all consuming thoughts that raged on, round and round in circles in her head, but she could no longer feel the cold of the night on her skin. Instead was the unfamiliar feeling of her entire left side blistering in heat, her right side numb, as Daniel continued to walk beside her on her left. The strange sensation was illogical yet made perfect sense when allowed appropriate scrutiny.
But Betty had no time to ponder such thoughts as their final destination came into a clearer and undisturbed view.
She hadn't realised but they had walked, side by side, silently for now going on ten minutes – and not once had the butterflies in her stomach settled.
There was something magical about this place when the skies turned dark; the starlight, moonlight and streetlights mingling in casting arrays of shade and startling colour. In the day, it was just another representation of the whole host of sometimes impressive, sometimes mundane architecture of the city. At night, it was something else entirely.
Daniel stopped halfway across, turning to rest his hands on the side wall of the bridge, looking out in front of him. The sight screamed déjà vu for the second time in the space of months and Betty had no idea how to interpret it this time.
She knew she had said she wouldn't be the first to break this silence, that she didn't want to make this easy on him, but she found she just couldn't help herself,
"We're eight hours too early aren't we?"
Daniel broke into the barest of smiles.
No it wasn't 5am in the morning, but the meaning was there, as tangible as ever.
She stood beside him, leaning out, looking over their city – glistening with the non stop activity that characterised their world.
"I'm sorry I was late."
Betty couldn't help but laugh as she repeated the word that stuck out like a sore thumb, "late."
He was silent. Mustering up nerve for an explanation, she wasn't sure, but he was certainly intensifying the already charged atmosphere – thick with near suffocating tension.
"I spent an hour circling the block, trying to get my head together, trying to sum up my thoughts into one succinct sentence."
Betty stood deathly still as she listened to him, trying hard not to look up at him, concentrating impossibly hard on that same exact spot in the distance which had Daniel as enraptured as she.
"And it took me just as long to realise that that just isn't possible."
His fingers curled over the ledge – gripping tight.
"Jenny's not real. I made her up. But you already knew that."
She didn't say anything. Even if she did try, no words would come out.
He sighed, extending his arms as he pushed harder, leaning out further.
"You know I considered bringing in someone to play her. Going along with the lie, because it just seemed that much easier. And maybe I would have done it. A year ago, two years ago, I wouldn't have hesitated. But I didn't have you then, did I? The voice in my head, telling me that one lie will only lead to another, and before you know it, it's a barely recognisable mess of lies, speeding down hill, obscured and unending, so much so that you no longer know what that one truth, the one you were so desperately trying to hide in the first place, actually was. Lost and tarnished."
He took in a sharp breath, his voice only just steady, as if all his energy and strength was going into every hard fought second;
"But this was one truth I didn't want to lose sight of. It's the one thing I never want to forget."
"Daniel-" the word slipped past her tongue, the cold, biting edge to her words long gone as she realised, finally realised, just how hard this was for him. A man who had been brought up in the eyes of the public, taught to hold everything close to his chest, never showing a moment of weakness that can be preyed upon by the ruthless vultures that were the press. And though Daniel tried valiantly to be all which Bradford Meade would have been proud of, he could never slip behind the mask entirely. Cracks always there, always present – and she loved him for it.
"Betty," the two syllables rolled out of his mouth so easily, "Don't make me tell you what you already know."
He turned to face her now. So serious and yet so devastatingly bare for her to see all.
And she knew.
She knew now for sure, without one iota of doubt, that the words Christina had uttered, what seemed like so many nights ago, were the truth.
He may not have been ready to say it out loud; scream it from rooftops, but inside he was still singing.
Closed off and scarred from previous experience – they were both healing. She from Henry, he from so many people who had disappointed him, time and time again.
He may not have been brave enough to say it now.
But she knew, with no room for uncertainty, that one day he would.
And for now, in this one fleeting moment of time, she was going to have to be brave enough for the both them.
She didn't think about it. Rational thought would have tried to persuade her against it. Instead she went with instinct.
And instinct just so happened to be rallying for her to kiss him.
And so she did.
Reaching up, her lips met his, and a second was all it took for the rest of the world to melt away.
A/N 2: It's not the end. There's a reason I haven't had Daniel utter those three little words yet, and that's because I intend to hopefully write a few more chapters of this, but, yes, it's very nearly done. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and as always I eat, sleep reviews and would love to know your thoughts. Cheers,
SmilinStar
xxx