~ VII ~

Daniel reverts to his baser instincts and decides that the most logical thing for him to do is to avoid Betty at all costs.

He knows it's not the brightest idea in the history of Daniel, doesn't dwell on the fact that he's in his late thirties but still feels compelled to run away like a scared little man-boy when things get confusing.

He buries himself in work, avoids her phone calls and while it's easy at first, it gets exponentially harder as her messages pile up and he fields questions from Amanda asking him what's up in 'Detty land'. The whole thing is like the mess when he tries to cook omelettes from scratch which is to say, hard as heck to clean up.

When he's sure he's alone Daniel secretly listens to all Betty's messages, ranging from concern to hostility then back to worry again. He finds himself looking around corners before entering rooms because he knows her and if she wants to hunt him down and talk badly enough, she'll find a way.

His life becomes almost impossible when even his mom weighs in, demanding to know why he's not talking to Betty. She'd apparently heard it from Betty herself who had called her in a fit of concern about Daniel and at any other time his heart may have melted with all the concern and the caring.

But as it is it lands him an uncomfortable appointment – lunch with his mother and if past experience has taught him anything it's to prepare for a bunch of disconcerting questions about things she really doesn't need to know.

He's right; there isn't so much as a 'how are you' before she starts interrogating him.

"Mom, for the last time, there's nothing wrong. I'm just … really busy, that's all. I'm not avoiding her, we're not having a fight and I didn't do anything wrong. Now can we talk about something else?"

"No. I don't believe you." She declares flatly, staring him down with a steely gaze.

"Well, tough. That's the truth." He tries to look offended but can't muster enough righteous indignation to pull it off.

"You might be able to use that tone with your minions but remember who you're talking to." She coolly sips sparkling water from her glass, watches him with appraising eyes.

Apparently his eyes are the spitting image of hers but Daniel has a hard time believing that right now.

"My goodness." She suddenly leans back against the chair, small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"What?"

She carefully puts her glass down, leans in like she's going to impart a secret. Her smile's disappeared but a suspicious twinkle lurks in her eyes. "You've finally realised."

"Realised what?"

"You know what." Ah no, he doesn't. "Yes you do. Remember Daniel, lying to mothers? Doesn't work. We can tell."

"Okay … what can you tell?" If this was an interrogation he'd be asking for a lawyer about now but seeing as this is mother, he has no such basic rights at his disposal.

"Daniel, do you really think I can't see it in your face?"

He swallows hard and decides he hates his face sometimes. "My face?" He scoffs, shoving a thick piece of steak into his mouth. "Mom, I have no idea what you're talking about. Make some sense."

"You're the one who's not making sense. You've realised you have feelings for Betty and now you don't know what you're going to do about it."

He applauds himself for not choking just in time. Stupid medium rare steak done to char-grilled perfection. "No, I … don't." He looks around wildly for a glass of wine but then recalls that he always refrains from ordering alcohol with his mom but wishes he isn't quite as sensitive a son at the moment.

He really wants to liquor up, and fast. "Betty? That's crazy. She's just a friend, we're almost – practically family. I don't like her – I mean, of course I like her but not like that. She's a friend, a really good –"

"Daniel, she's a wonderful girl." She quickly turns her attention back to her salad, adds slyly. "She feels the same way you know."

"Mom."

"I'm just saying. In case you were wondering."

"I'm not, and can we please not do this right now? I'm not comfortable discussing this … with my mother." It's the first words of truth he's spoken the whole lunch.

Impressively, his mother stops torturing him; starts talking about shares and stocks and Hot Flash instead and it's a testament to his confusion that he rather hear about menopausal monthly than think about feelings and Betty and other sweaty palm issues.

He finds himself slowing unwinding but then a horrible thought occurs to him.

What if Betty, like his mom, had seen what is apparently really obvious on his face and that's the reason she's bombarding him with messages?

His grilled to perfection steak suddenly sticks in his throat.

* * * * *

Lunch with his mother clears nothing up but does make him realise avoiding Betty is probably not the best course of action, mainly because he can't do it forever and also, it's rude.

He resolves to call her back but she beats him to the punch. She's waiting in his office when he gets back to work and tells him they need to talk before he's even opened his mouth to explain. She's not interested though, just wants to know whether he's free for dinner although she informs him that Amanda's already cleared his schedule so as far as she knows, he's free.

Which explains why he's wearing a hole around a tree at the edge of a small square a few blocks from Meade, waiting for her at dusk. He watches the sun dip past the horizon, though of course he's doesn't look directly at it because even he knows he can't do that without sustaining serious injury.

"Hey." She's somehow looking cuter than before in a cheerful red polka dot dress with matching beret and a funky black jacket, which wouldn't have assaulted his fashion sense if not for the striped multicoloured scarf she's teamed it with. Talk about a walking rainbow.

She gives him a curt hello, drags him to a small granite pavilion covered with vines and it's really quite picturesque but she's staring at him like she's about to hurl.

He notices, inopportunely, that he's still got his fingers wrapped around hers and decides that if she doesn't tear them away he's well within his rights to not let them go. He's determined to not notice how warm or soft her hand is in his though. Maybe he should think sad thoughts.

Puppies looking sad. Puppies not having enough to eat. Homeless puppies. Puppies dying.

No, that's too sad.

"Daniel, are you already not listening to me?"

"What? No, I'm listening. Of course I'm listening."

He can tell she doesn't believe him. "I was saying, I needed to talk to you. The way you ran out of my house the other night –"

"I needed to get the Book –"

She shuts him down gently. "Daniel it's me, remember? I know it wasn't anything to do with work. Your face … It's like you saw – realised – something during dinner. Did you?"

He swallows once, twice, three times; prepares for Armageddon because she must know, must have seen his panic face and knows.

Crap.

"I mean, I know you. You saw something that totally freaked you out and now you're not speaking to me."

Maybe without realising it, she's standing a little too close to him, so close he's able to smell her, a mixture of roses and strawberries and something else.

"Daniel, we've always told each other everything. And I don't want that to stop, ever."

"Me neither. I –"

"Great." He sees her swallowing; holds his breath for the inevitable. "I was looking for the right moment to talk to you about this but now you're freaking out and if I don't do it now I'm afraid things will spiral and I don't want that. You know what I'm talking about, right?"

"I'm … not sure." It's hard to tell; he doesn't know what he's talking about half the time. "What are you talking about?"

He squeezes her hand but she pulls away. "Oh boy." She tries laughing it off but he sees through her like glass. "It's nothing, it's nothing. I don't – I mean, it isn't a big deal or anything. I don't know what I was thinking. I was – I was just going to talk to you about this thing at work but you know what? It isn't a big deal. Forget I said anything, I'm totally overreacting. You know me. Craaaazy Betty!"

He does know her, well enough to know she's lying.

"Wow, is that time? I have to go. I totally need to go. I have this deadline and I haven't even got half of article done and my editor's going to kill me, it's really too bad, I think I'll have to take a rain check on dinner –"

He grabs her by the shoulders, gently but firmly. "Betty it's me, remember? I know you and I know that wasn't what you wanted to talk about. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'm right here."

"Right." She turns her back on him and for an excruciating moment he's frozen in time. But then she takes a deep breath, faces him again and it's only then he realises she's practically green. Not only that, she looks physically ill and in that instant his mind clears; all confusion from the last few days chased away by concern. "What is it Betty? Come on, you can tell me."

"Um, I know. I think … I know that."

She directs them to a bench, feels her hand tensing in his and it's like she's holding on for dear life. "Let me preface this by saying it's kind of been building for a really long time, so gradually but lately it's been really hard. I mean, I've always thought – we're really good friends, aren't we? I mean, in a way, you're kind of sort of my best friend."

"Me too." He struggles to not smile too much, is careful to add softly. "What's this about?"

She rushes on. "You know with band aids, you either rip them off really quickly or do it slowly? I've always thought it's best to do it quickly. I mean, it hurts a lot but then you start recovering right away. And this … what I'm about to say … it's kinda like the band aid and could potentially be worse, but Daniel, can you promise me that whatever you hear, you won't hold it against me? That we'll still be friends?"

He promises, neglects to add that he'll promise her anything she wants. She takes a deep breath, eyes wide with fear or hope he can't tell.

And then tells him, point blank, in a very un-Betty like manner, that she loves him.

She loves him. She's in love with him. He's fairly sure his heart skips several beats.

She begins to babble, leaking nervous energy like a natural disaster. Isn't it funny? She kind of sort of has feelings for him which is both awesome and awkward in a really scary way because he's her best friend and she knows this is a huge shock but he must have seen, right, even a little bit, which is why he freaked out at her dad's house? And can he not look like he's about to drown a puppy because she really, really needs to know she hasn't just destroyed the best friendship she's ever had?

The desired response doesn't come and so she starts again, slightly more composed. She knows him well enough to not expect The Feeling to be reciprocated; only hopes he doesn't freak out and they can get past it so it doesn't affect their friendship too much. She's careful to emphasise this and if she repeats herself it's only because he's too shell shocked to even exhibit his now infamous panic face.

And then there's stilted silence because she's finally run out of words and frankly, he's still out because he can't even think at the moment.

He needs a drink right now, genetic alcoholism be damned.

Logically he knows he should be happy, happy and ecstatic and overjoyed but he's all and none of these things. As usual she's done all the work, taken one for the team and instead of leaping off the bench and scooping her into his arms, he's sitting in a stew of rising panic.

He can't breathe for the panic coursing through his body.

"Daniel? Say something. Please say something. You're scaring me."

Words jumble in his brain and the world becomes unbearably claustrophobic; he doesn't know which way is up or down. Despite what she'd said earlier she looks just on the wrong side of crestfallen at his prolonged silence; his stomach clenches knowing he's the reason she looks like that.

He wants to tell her everything, but before he can she stands and tears away from him. "Oh, that's okay. It's a huge … shock. Of course you'll need time to, you know, deal and all that. Anyway I just … I don't want this to affect our friendship, that's all." She's using that high pitched voice she uses when she feels like crawling into the nearest pothole and dying a quick, painless death.

"It won't." But the other words, the ones that would put both of them out of misery, stick in his throat and even he can see that this is turning into one giant steaming bowl of crap.

He just needs to say them, those three words that will turn night into day. But he doesn't.

She's pale and vulnerable in the waning light, is maybe even on the verge of tears. "Okay then, I guess, I just … I need to go."

And with that she's gone and it's all really ironic because she's the one making the quick getaway this time, leaving him standing there like the idiot he is.

He watches her disappear around the corner, leaves swirling about her silhouette like a vortex. Has no idea why he doesn't just run after her and tell her how he really feels.

But he doesn't, just sinks against the railing and tries to understand what the heck just happened.