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 . . .
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: Okay so the Ugly Betty plot bunnies are continuing to wreak havoc, not entirely helpful when I have exams to concentrate on, oh and an unfinished House fic, which I am determined to complete. This, by the way, was an on the spur of the moment thing, which was supposed to be a one-shot but has somehow morphed into a multichap fic, grr, and I can only hope it isn't as terrible as I think it is . . .
It was quite simply getting beyond ridiculous now. But no matter how many times she attempted to shake some sense into her hopelessly wistful heart, Christina's words would always find themselves floating in front of her eyes in neon shades of pink and green;
"He's in love with you Betty," she had said. And that wasn't all; apparently everyone knew – she was just too blind to see it. "I'd get some new glasses, that might help," Christina had then proceeded to drunkenly advise.
But Betty had stopped listening at this point. Her thoughts instead frozen on the impossibility that one Daniel Meade was supposedly in love with her. Of course she did the only sane thing possible; she laughed. And laughed some more. Drank down half a bottle of cheap wine and then laughed again.
"No way," she had muttered repeatedly in the back of their shared cab all the way home. Christina wasn't really in the right state of mind to notice her friend was also slowly losing her marbles, one seeping out after another. After all, the cab driver was one stunning man, and after several shots of vodka it's not as if she paid any attention to that horrendous moustache and terrible shirt.
And so as Betty's world continued to spin around her, Christina continued to flirt for all of Scotland. Truth be told, it wasn't as if she could help Betty much anyway. Exactly what were you supposed to do when you found out your boss may just be head over heels for you?
And in her drunken haze, she came to the following conclusion:
Prove it, of course.
What Betty hadn't expected when she'd come up with this absurd idea, however, was that in order to seek such proof, she really didn't have to do much at all.
With Christina's words constantly spinning around in her head in dizzying circles every moment of every day, she just began to notice things.
And it all started that first Monday morning back at Mode after Christina's revelation.
Betty felt like she was dying. Her head was throbbing, she'd already thrown up several times down the toilet pan that morning and now she was dragging herself into work looking like death itself.
Amanda had raised her perfectly sculpted brows in complete synchrony as Betty had stumbled her way out of the elevator and past the reception desk. Surprisingly, she had nothing to say as she continued to file her nails in silence.
Betty thanked god for small mercies as she collapsed into her chair.
She squinted up at her poorly patched up purple bunny and groaned, her head dropping back down onto the table, resting in the crook of her elbow.
She wasn't sure how long she'd been like that, and that was more than likely the probable result of her having fallen asleep at her desk.
Meanwhile, Daniel had walked in only a half hour after her. He had initially walked right past her, obviously in a rush, papers in hand, throwing a quick "Good morning Betty," her way. Of course, having not got his usual cheery reply, Daniel had stopped in his tracks, turned back around and proceeded to gawk at her sleeping (and snoring) form.
"Betty?" he called.
She didn't stir.
He walked closer, stopping right beside her, "Betty?" he called again.
He crouched down beside her. Amusement flickering through his eyes, and without further thought he found himself reaching out and brushing several stray strands of her hair out of her face. He tucked them gently behind her ear and then whispered softly,
"Betty, wake up."
"No," Betty murmured into the sleeve of her shirt.
Daniel nudged her a little more, a small smile creeping across his face, "Wake up."
And she did. Painfully slowly and not without protest. Her eyes opened and the first thought that popped into her hung over head was that Daniel's face was far too close to her own. And once she'd managed to focus her bleary eyes; she realised he was looking at her like . . . like . . .
Damn. She really hated Christina; why the hell had she opened her mouth in the first place?
The smile on his face had soon morphed into concern and for that, Betty was grateful. She didn't think she could handle Daniel looking at her like that.
She must have looked like hell as she attempted to straighten up if Daniel's expression was anything to go by.
"Are you okay?" he asked, "What happened?"
"Nothing," Betty croaked, straightening her red-rimmed glasses.
Incredulous, Daniel asked, "Have you been drinking?"
Betty groaned, "Last night, Christina, bar-" That was as much of a coherent sentence Daniel was going to get out of her today.
Daniel shook his head bemused, and could only manage the word, "Seriously?"
Apparently he had uttered the word a little too loudly for Betty's over-sensitised eardrums, as she scowled up at him, "Volume, Daniel," she muttered, massaging her throbbing temples.
Pursing his lips together, Daniel stared down at Betty once more wondering just how in the world his normally oh so sensible assistant had managed to get herself into this predicament. With another shake of his head and mind set, he grabbed a hold of Betty's hand and tugged.
She didn't even manage to spit out one word as Daniel said, "You're coming with me."
She followed haplessly with an entirely welcomed, if surprising, cessation of the pounding in her head as her focus switched to an altogether different sensation.
Daniel's hand was ridiculously warm, she realised.
It was freezing outside and the heating in the building was still taking its sweet time to reach its maximal efficiency; and so she found herself idly wondering how on earth he had warmed up so quickly. And it was only when she started thinking how comfortable and inexplicably right it felt to have her hand wrapped tight in his, did the pounding in her head start up again with an unforgiving ferocity.
"We need to get you some coffee," Daniel was saying, "Some strong coffee," but she was hardly paying any attention.
Her thoughts had stopped and had stuck on one immutable design; and that was to simply hunt Christina down and wring her pretty little neck for putting stupid ideas into her head.
Ideas that were, quite frankly, absurd. Impossible and ridiculous, and based on no evidence whatsoever.
She stumbled into the elevator with him.
And that's when he turned, hand still holding hers tight, smiling a smile that would have lesser women melting into an untidy heap on the floor. And right now, Betty wondered if she was one of them.
Forget wringing Christina's neck, Betty was going to murder her.
A/N 2: So what did you think? Worth continuing (even though updates may be slow)? Please review and let me know, feedback is wholeheartedly appreciated.