DISCLAIMER: Unless something extraordinary has happened since my last chapter, I still don't own them. Trust me, you'd know it if I did. ;-)

Chapter Five
Desperate Times

Daniel had been doing a downright stellar job at not butting into Betty's life, if he said so himself. For the past month, he hadn't made any comments about the dubious musician living in the apartment across the hall from her. Not once.

Well, OK, maybe once. Twice. A couple of times.

But not lately. A good week had passed during which Daniel had restrained himself from subtle-but-really-not inquiries into Jesse's health, or the success of his most recent gig, or whether or not he had been eaten by the resident rat colony. Mostly because Betty had started giving him the evil eye whenever he opened his mouth and, in the interest of avoiding a ballpoint pen to the heart, he had thought it best to hold himself back. Besides, since the two of them had been reinstated at Mode two weeks ago, there had been more than enough work to distract him.

And Betty was a smart girl. Too smart to do anything as ridiculous as get involved with a rock musician, of all people. Really, when he considered it like a rational person, the idea was almost laughable.

Except it wasn't.

Because a rock musician would eat Betty alive.

Metaphorically speaking. He hoped.

But he could never say something like that to Betty. Because Betty was smart enough that she didn't need warnings or protection from him, as she had made abundantly clear herself. And because he knew that his motives for wanting Jesse out of the way were not entirely pure… and part of him was terrified that, if he kept trying to keep Betty single, she might figure out the real reason why.

That couldn't happen. Not without bringing Daniel's entire world crumbling down around him when the inevitable rejection followed. His bruised and battered heart just wouldn't be able to take it.

So, Daniel made a point of not worrying about Betty.

He made a point of not worrying about her when she didn't show up for work on time that morning.

He made a point of not worrying about her when the phone started ringing off the hook at 9:00 a.m. He even answered them all himself without a single complaint.

He made a point of not worrying about her while he pretended to read his email and flipped through proofs for next month's issue without actually being able to focus on a single one.

He made a point of not worrying about her while he glanced at her desk every thirty seconds to see if she was there yet. Just, you know, out of disinterested curiosity.

He made a point of not worrying about her when he called her cell phone and left a voicemail asking where she was. And then left another. And another.

Finally, by 11:00 a.m., Daniel was fed up with not worrying about Betty and gave himself full license to freak the hell out.

"Hi Betty, it's Daniel again," he struggled to keep his voice level as he left yet another voicemail. "Things are pretty busy, and I'm getting kind of swamped without you here to work your magic."

It took a monumental effort to keep himself from blurting out what was really rushing through his mind: Please God let me know that you haven't died in your sleep, or decided to quit without notice, or skipped town to become a professional groupie, or else I will have a nervous breakdown and Wilhelmina will have me committed to a mental institution and take over the entire magazine. Again. Oh, and by the way, I think I love you.

Instead, he took a deep breath.

"Uh… so give me a call if--"

But a flash of turquoise, hot pink, and a thousand other colors that did not belong together called his attention away from the phone.

"You look different," Amanda's voice carried from the lobby. "Did you do something with your hair?"

And then Betty rushed towards her desk, even more mismatched than usual and looking for all the world like the rats had made a nest on her head. Without bothering to finish his lame ass message, Daniel hung up and went to his doorway at a carefully regulated speed.

"'Morning, Betty," he said, a little too casually. She didn't quite manage to hide a wince at the sound of his voice.

"Oh my God, Daniel, I'm so sorry!" she cried, her eyes wild. "I just woke up half an hour ago and I took a taxi and got here as fast as I--"

"Whoa, whoa, Betty, slow down," he said, moving in beside her and carefully guiding her to her chair. She sank into it with a shaky sigh, letting her head sink until her forehead came to rest on the desktop.

"Eugh…" she moaned, taking several deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself and regain at least semi-coherency. In truth, her entire body felt like it had been run over by a semi at least half a dozen times since she'd woken up. Her head was throbbing mercilessly, her joints ached and she felt vaguely like she was on the verge of throwing up. But these were all things she'd just as soon conceal from the gossiping Modies, if at all possible.

"Everything OK?" Daniel asked, sitting on the desk beside her. The circles under her eyes and her unusually disheveled appearance weren't lost on him.

"What? Yeah, everything's great!" she said, sitting up too quickly in an attempt to look like her usual chipper self. Instead, the rush of movement sent a wave of nausea through her that made her head spin. Her face turned a sickly shade of green. "Oh…"

Startled, Daniel put a hand on her shoulder.

"Put your head back down," he instructed, and she obeyed without question. He knew that look too well, and the last thing he wanted was for Betty to get sick all over Mode's new flooring. He rested his hand against her forehead, and her skin was warm to the touch.

"Mmm…" Betty murmured, closing her eyes to stop the room from spinning. Daniel swallowed hard, a strange fluttering starting up in his chest. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to whisk her away, tuck her securely into a warm bed, and hand-feed her chicken soup…

"Ooh, look, Betty's dying!" Amanda chirped brightly, her heels clacking as she scurried towards them. Betty groaned softly.

"Too loud…" she moaned, putting her hands over her ears to block out the deafening sound of heels on hard floors. Daniel stared at her.

…too loud?

"Dying? Already?" Marc's voice soon followed. "Huh. I thought that was an emergency back up plan." Amanda whipped around to stare at him.

"What?" she said.

"Hmm?" Marc blinked. "Oh. Just pretend I didn't say that."

After a moment, Amanda shrugged. "OK."

"Time to revel in the misfortunes of others!" Marc continued, and Amanda let out a delighted squeal.

The two of them gleefully shouldered past Daniel to coo over Betty's sickly features as she squeezed her eyes shut in protest. In an instant, Marc had his cell phone out to snap a photo.

"It's just too easy sometimes," he sighed happily.

"Guys," Daniel stood. "Some space, please?"

"What do you want on your tombstone?" Amanda called as Daniel took her and Marc by the arms and forcefully ushered them back towards the lobby.

"Quieter," Betty murmured.

"Really?" Amanda asked. "That's a weird inscription. But, hey, if it's what you want…"

"Don't you have work to do?" Daniel snapped irritably, finally deeming that the gruesome twosome were far enough away from Betty to be released to their own devices. When they both peered back in her direction with obvious longing, he fixed them with his best Editor-in-Chief-glare-of-doom and they reluctantly slunk back to their desks.

Satisfied that the immediate threat to Betty's peace of mind had been averted, Daniel turned back towards his assistant with a furrowed brow. He had begun to piece together all of her apparent symptoms--the oversleeping, the dizziness, the fervent desire for quiet--and he didn't much like the conclusion he was drawing.

Slowly, he returned to her side and stared at her for a long moment. Her eyes were squeezed shut.

"Betty," he said slowly. "Are you hung over?"

One deep brown eye cracked open to peer up at him, her expression pained.

"Daniel, I'm so sorry," she managed.

"On a Thursday?" he asked.

"I know," she moaned. "I was just going to have ginger ale, I swear, but then he kept getting me those mango margaritas--those things are amazing, I swear to God, have you tried them?--and they didn't really taste like they had any alcohol in them or anything so I didn't think it was a big deal till I had to stand up…" She was babbling uncontrollably now, her gnawing sense of guilt taking hold and running wild before she could stop it.

Daniel watched her, amusement and concern warring in his eyes.

"Betty," he stopped her. "It's OK. Really. I mean, come on, I've done worse."

A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.

"That's true," she acknowledged.

"Just don't let it happen again," he said with affected sternness.

"Yes, boss."

"Now," he said. "How about if I get you coffee today?"

"Oh, would you? I think that might save my life," she murmured. Daniel grinned.

But before he could stand, something she had said during her guilt-stricken confession finally registered. Something that he had skimmed over at first, maybe because it was easier to block it out than it was to think about it. And now his brain, glutton for punishment that it was, was throwing it back in his face to taunt him.

"…did you say 'he' kept giving you margaritas?" he asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral. Slowly Betty lifted her head, keeping her eyes averted from his.

"Hmm?" she asked, seizing her mouse and beginning to click through her emails with unnecessary force.

"Betty…" his voice was little more than a growl.

"Oh all right!" she cried, throwing up her hands in defeat. "It was Jesse. Jesse took me out and bought me margaritas. There! Happy?"

Daniel was not happy. Daniel was the absolute furthest thing from happy.

"You let that guy get you trashed on a Wednesday night?" he demanded.

"A second ago you didn't seem to think it was such a big deal," she pointed out.

"A second ago I didn't know what you'd really been up to," Daniel said.

"Daniel," she sighed. "Can we not get into this right now? Please…?"

She looked tired, and sick, and completely fed up with the completely ridiculous overprotective shtick he'd been pulling on her lately. So Daniel took a long, deep breath and then sloooowly let it out.

"Sorry," he said. "This just… isn't like you."

"Well, everyone keeps telling me to quit playing it safe, right?" she said with a weak attempt at a smile.

Yes. Yes, they did. It had seemed like great advice at the time. Now Daniel wasn't so sure.

"Ugh… I don't feel so good," she murmured suddenly, lurching to her feet. Daniel jumped away instinctively. If Betty was going to hurl, he definitely didn't want to be in the line of fire. But then she swayed, and he couldn't stop himself from rushing back in to hold her steady.

"Thanks," she said, lifting a hand to her head and willing the dizziness to pass. "Daniel, I'm so sorry about this…"

"It's OK," he sighed. And it was true. He wasn't really angry at her for being hung over at work. After all, his sweet, naïve, bubbly assistant would never have gone out and gotten blitzed if left to her own devices. That filthy musician was corrupting the wonderful innocence that was Betty, and that upset Daniel more than anything.

"Come on," he said, keeping a firm grasp on her arm. Betty leaned on him more than he thought was strictly necessary, setting his heart racing in a way he had been strenuously trying to avoid for the past month. He sucked in his breath and tried to think about something--anything--other than the warm weight of her body against him.

When they drew near the women's restroom, Betty released his arm at last and he breathed just a little bit easier. He moved to follow her, till she turned back to him with raised eyebrows.

"Daniel, you can't follow me into the women's room," she said.

"I've done it before," he pointed out. Betty rolled her eyes, but couldn't keep from smiling.

"I think I can manage on my own," she said. "But thanks." She reached out and touched his hand as she spoke, her dark eyes meeting his for a shy second, and his poor heart turned to a puddle of goo in his chest. Damn her and her ability to reduce him to nothing with a glance.

Betty wasn't sure if the lightheadedness washing over her was a result of her monstrous hangover or something else entirely. In an unsteady moment, she swayed towards him. Daniel caught her deftly with a hand against her shoulder.

Staring at her, so close, Daniel's mouth dropped open with all the things he so desperately wanted to say but couldn't. Then his brow furrowed as he noticed something decidedly odd, mostly concealed by the unruly curtain of black hair.

His hand trailed up to her throat, and Betty jumped at the unexpected sensation of his fingertips against her skin. What was he doing?

"Daniel--"

"There's something on your…" he began, but his voice trailed away.

A bruise. There was a bruise on her..

…no. The realization hit him like a brick straight to the gut. No, not a bruise.

"Oh," he managed, his hand dropping back to his side.

Betty stiffened and backed quickly away from him. The way he was staring at her--like she'd somehow betrayed him--was just too much. She escaped to the sanctuary of the bathroom.

Daniel stood rooted where she'd left him, staring at the bathroom door with disbelief.

A hickey. That guy had taken his Betty out drinking--on a weeknight--and returned her to him with a hickey.

Completely. Unacceptable.

His chest felt tight. He couldn't breathe. Uncertain what else to do with himself, he wandered back towards his office in a daze.

He paused at Betty's desk, looking over her adorable decorations and wallowing in self pity. The bunny, the photos of baby ducks… everything just reinforced how innocent Betty was. How innocent she should always be.

Something beeped and jarred him out of his brooding. Glancing down, he realized that Betty's cell phone was sitting less than a foot away from him. She'd just gotten a text message.

He stared at the phone.

No. He couldn't.

…could he?

Before he could change his mind, he snatched the phone off her desk.

Gig 2morrow night Beer Hole. 9pm. U in? -J

Daniel scowled darkly at the tiny screen. It figured that the little creep couldn't even use complete sentences. Anyone who wrote like that didn't deserve Betty. She wanted to run a magazine, for God's sake. She needed somebody literate.

Quietly, he set the phone back on her desk. As he stepped into his office, he pulled out his Blackberry and created a new event for the following night: 9:00 p.m., Beer Hole - Find. See. Destroy.

This was war.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know, I know, I totally failed on that whole "updating more frequently" thing, but I absolutely love all the amazing reviews you guys have been leaving for me. I adore you all. I'm already starting in on Chapter Six, and having a blast bringing Scheming!Daniel out to play, so with any luck it'll turn into something worth looking forward to. ;-) Will sing for reviews.