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: So here it is folks, the last chapter. Hope you enjoy it . . .


Nine Months Later

"This is a bad idea. Why did I even let you persuade me into doing this tonight?"

"Oh come on, Betty," Christina grinned, ear to ear, "It's only a couple of drinks."

Betty snorted – not that it could be heard, the thumping base of the music and the raucous drunken laughter inhabiting every inch of the floor space of the club, masking the sound well.

"And anyway," Christina said, placing her arm firmly around Betty's shoulders, "It's not as if you had anything better to do."

Betty attempted to glare at her friend, not liking to be reminded of that little fact. But it was a redundant move; Christina had spotted her prey for the evening, and all her attention was now focussed entirely on him.

"Ooh, he's gorgeous."

Betty rolled her eyes, "And gay."

The point was only demonstrated a second later as the dark haired stunner was whisked away by another stunner; a most definitely male, stunner. There may have been a collective sigh in the club as all female hopes were crushed along with Christina's.

"Bugger," Christina muttered, "That is just so bloody typical. All the gorgeous men are either married, gay, sociopaths or all three."

Betty gave her a long hard stare, before shaking her head. She must have understood her wrong. After all, it wasn't so hard a feat considering the thick Scottish accent added to the already drunken slur to her words. She had sneaked a flask of whisky into the cab with her. Somehow, it wasn't all that shocking.

"I need a drink."

Betty sighed, hopelessly following after her friend. Someone needed to watch out for her. Goodness knew what kind of situation Christina would get herself into otherwise. Frankly, Betty didn't want to know, but she followed nevertheless.

And anyway, Christina was right.

As it was, she didn't have anything better to do.

She sat on the stool next to Christina at the bar, blindly ignoring the one too many shots of vodka Christina gulped down; her thoughts much to occupied with a certain blue eyed Editor-in-Chief that she was hopelessly, futilely, head over heels in love with.

Sometimes she'd have to pinch herself and just check for the thousandth time that day that she wasn't dreaming. Of course, she'd wake up every morning, roll over and see his beautiful sleeping face on the pillow next to her, and pinch him instead just to make sure he was real, and she wasn't losing her mind.

He'd off course wake up with a yelp. Grumble at her for no longer than 30 seconds before she'd whisper in her small voice, "I was just checking you were real."

Then he'd give her a husky laugh, a by-product of still being half asleep, which of course never failed to simultaneously send glorious shivers down her spine. It was becoming a little bit of a morning routine, and Daniel didn't mind so much because he usually spent the next half hour proving just how real he was.

She blushed a little at the thought, though it could easily have been pegged down to the sticky heat of the club.

But damn Christina, even in her drunken state, managed to pick up on it.

"So where's Daniel tonight? I thought you two would be going at it like . . . like . . ." It seemed there was a limit to Christina's lucidity.

"He said he had something to take care of."

"Ooh, that doesn't sound good," Christina supplied helpfully.

Betty glared at her again, snapping, "Thanks Christina."

"Oh Betty, Daniel would never cheat on you."

"I never said anything about cheating," Betty said, slow and low.

"Oh, I know that, and I know you Betty; you and your damn insecurities."

She would have been affronted, had it not been slightly true. She did pinch the man awake every morning, after all.

"He's just been a little edgy these last couple of weeks. It's like he's hiding something."

Christina was suspiciously quiet.

And Betty had noticed.

"Christina," she started.

She was positive she'd seen her friend curse under her breath, only cementing her suspicions further.

"It's probably nothing," Christina said much too fast, "He's probably just got too much to deal with, you know, the magazine, Alexis – he doesn't want to worry you. You know you are so lucky. I wish I could find a man just like him. You know, someone who is gorgeous, not married, not gay and not a sociopath. It's just so bloody impossible. I mean, the other day, right, there was this bloke who was really sweet, but I was drunk and it turned out he was at least. . ." the rest of the sentence fizzled away. Her long nervous ramble only met by Betty's cold stony silence and a glare that had frozen her solid to the spot, her mouth open with a perfect 'oh shit' expression.

"Fifty," she finished.

Betty sat a little straighter, her voice steady, "Christina, spill."

She was silent for two seconds, before finally sighing in exasperation, "Oh alright woman. If you want to spoil the surprise for yourself – be my guest!"

"Christina," Betty huffed, irritation settling in for the long haul, "What are you talking about?"

"He's going to ask you to marry him, Betty."

Betty obviously hadn't heard her right. It was that damn accent again.


"I said he's going to ask you to marry him Betty."

That's what she'd thought the first time.

She laughed. Gulped down the rest of her drink, and then laughed again, "Ha ha, very funny."

"Oh come on, Betty," Christina sighed, "His shady behaviour these last couple of weeks? It's all because he's out planning and fretting for the proposal. The poor sod's so scared, he's rushing in and out of the men's every fifteen minutes almost as if he's having a sympathetic pregnancy," and then almost as if a light bulb had gone off in her head, she added cautiously, "You're not pregnant are you? You know that would actually explain it all . . ."

"No! No, I'm not pregnant!" Betty snapped.

"Oh, well, that's good."

"Christina, Daniel is not going to propose. After Sofia, I doubt he ever wants to go through that all again."

"Ah, but you're not Sofia, are you Betty? He actually loves you."

Christina shifted in her seat, "Look, all the signs are there, you just haven't seen them." Another pause was followed with, "Seriously Betty, I think you should really get some new glasses."

And that was followed by an, "Ooh, would you look at him."


But it was a lost cause. Christina was already climbing her way off the stool and staggering her way over to some random guy. Betty wasn't even sure which as she heard the last tail of her friend's mutterings, "Please, don't let him be gay. Not another one."

And so she was left there.

Sat on a stool.

In some random bar.

With one unanswered question wreaking havoc in her head.

Another familiar overpowering need to strangle Christina senseless.

And one last muttered thought; "Not again . . ."

The End

A/N 2: Cowers in the corner - you guys are gonna ask for a sequel now aren't you? Well the story's kind of come full circle and I'm not really sure about writing a sequel. As much of a blast as it has been writing this, I think this is the best place to end it. I'm currently working on another Daniel/Betty one shot, which is about half way done, and I'll be putting that up soon (if you're interested), but really all that's left for me to say is thank you. Thank you to each and every one of you who have read, and most especially, taken the time to leave me a review and share your thoughts. They were truly appreciated and I'm thrilled at the response this fic has had. So thank you.

I'll leave you again with one last plea to let me know what you thought of this final chapter, cheers.

Over and out,