A/N: Some of my fabulous reviewers requested another chapter and I'm inclined to agree that it didn't feel finished. This takes place two weeks after the last chapter. So, ever your humble slave, I bring you the epilogue—second verse, same as the first, a little bit louder and a whole lot more ambiguous.

Two weeks later, on a hot spring day…cue porny music…

Betty lay on her stomach, shiny with sunscreen, in a hot pink spaghetti-strap tank top; she was basking in the intensely warm glow of spring. Her eyes closed, she murmured, "Hilda, pass me another beer."

"Agh. Too sleepy." Hilda was lying in the same position.

"Uggggh…." Betty replied, her cheek sporting stripes from the lawn chair.

Daniel leaned against the gate and observed a minute. Okay, stared. Ogled. Perved around. He smiled indulgently at his girl's attire and marveled at the difference between the two sisters; even in the heat, Betty wore modest jeans and a cute little top that was pretty damn risqué for her. Risqué in that skin was showing. Hilda, by contrast, was wearing a skimpy bikini, the thong not even pretending to cover anything up.

Careful not to a) get mistakenly shot by Ignacio or b) make a noise, he slipped up between the two catnapping women. He reached into the cooler for a sweating, icy bottle of beer and crouched down by Betty. He was about to tempt Death herself by swiftly rolling it down her bare skin, when he stopped. Looked. Saw his name tattooed in half-inch tall, gothic-style letters on her shoulder.

A heat rose within Daniel that had nothing to do with global warming. She has my name tattooed on her… A strange, primal, fevered possessiveness unfurled inside. Also, a satisfaction—she must not be getting too naked with Henry at the risk of him seeing Daniel's tag on his girlfriend. His temporary girlfriend.

Daniel had to tease her. Now. Had to see that delicious plump pout trying to suppress a grin, had to see those sweet brown eyes sparkle, those cheeks flush with embarrassment and mirth. He trailed the cold neck of the bottle down her spine and she sat bolt upright with a shriek, rolling over and ready to go all Queens Princess on someone's ass.

She held up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun and saw Daniel's tall form towering over her like an impartial, deceptively solemn angel. Betty didn't want to think too much about why she instinctively arched her back so he could get the full benefit of her figure, despite her annoyance.

The neighbors probably saw a sibling-like, teasing interaction between two best friends. But the pair themselves knew better. And so, for that matter, did a smirking Hilda.

"I'll just go in and see what Papi's up to. God knows where he inks I am. I mean, thinks I am."

Betty could've killed her not-so-softly.

Daniel, eyes locked effortlessly on Betty rather than on Hilda's retreating string-clad form, lay back in the lawn chair that Suarez Sibling the Elder had vacated.

"So, an interesting thing happened today while at the spa with my mother," Daniel said. His tone was casual, which immediately put Betty on Sarcastic!Daniel alert. He was about to drop a bomb, she could feel it.

"I was sitting in the lobby, reading my Maxim and minding my own business, when she comes walking through stark naked. Apparently, she saw a rat swimming in her rose-petal bath, but she's claimed to have an ongoing affair with Elvis when she's drunk, so you never know. And anyway, that's not the surprising part."

Betty wasn't surprised at Claire's antics either, so she wondered what his point was.

Daniel continued, "Before my retinas were consumed in flames, I noticed that on her shoulder was a tattoo that reads "Bradford 4-eva." And, here's the kicker, she told me to ask you about yours."

Betty shifted uncomfortably. So he had seen it, the beautiful, sneaky bastard.

Daniel reached over, lightning fast, and pulled her gently but firmly forward, exposing her inked shoulder.

"I was drunk." Her eyes met his defiantly. This statement was her only defense, and she knew good and well that it sucked. But it was all she had.

"I don't care," Daniel said flatly, in that frank way of his that cut like a knife and made Julianne Betty out of her heart. She often wondered if he realized he was that capable of hurting her, like on the night of Wicked. He'd called her "stupid" in that alley, to her face, point-blank range, and she'd never in a million years let him know the resulting force of her sobs in the shower.

Not relinquishing his hold, Daniel persisted. "So, you were shit-faced. We've all been there, Betty. Why didn't you get Henry's name?"

This was the crux of the issue, and, God, there she was, that face a whisper away from his, and it was all he could do to exercise self-control for once in his deviant life and not kiss her then and there, tell her that they didn't have to do this infernal Sexual Tension Limbo under the pole called Henry Grubstick, could tell the tool to piss off to Tucson and set Betty free, set Daniel free, what he'd been itching to do for months.

But he knew the stubborn set of her chin that made him want to carry her to the nearest bed and chase that luscious little body from one end of the mattress to the other; her response didn't shock him.

"What part of 'I was mightily blitzed' do you not understand? I was probably just thinking about work, blurted your name out to the artist, and passed out in the chair."

But Daniel had stopped listening to her broken-record excuse. He was busy tracing his name with a forefinger.

"Did it hurt?"

Betty swallowed hard, and cringed at the audibility of the sound. "It stung for a while."

Tell me about it…

"Most things worth having do, you know. Sting." He wasn't talking about the tattoo now. "Has Henry seen it?"

"Yes."

Hehehehe…

"How did he take it?"

"He didn't really care because I was DRUNK." Well, that wasn't totally true. Henry had just grown eerily silent and turned away. Turning back around, Betty saw that he had pasted on a fake smile and suggested they make ice cream. "Bananas for Betty." They hadn't been so bananas for each other ever since.

Reading everything in her eyes, Daniel grinned at her then, a breathtaking and wholly unnerving sight. "Fair enough."

This conversation wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

Without warning, Daniel changed the subject; that was the way of it with El Meade, she supposed. You'd better get used to a permanent state of whiplash.

"Let's go get one of those repulsive mango margaritas you like so much," he declared, standing and holding out both hands to her. She took them, relived that he seemed to have dropped the subject for now. He mock-labored in pulling her to her feet. She was about to make a mental note to muss his hair for that later, when her body bumped into his from the force of his pull.

His arms encircled her. Flustered, Betty tried to focus on straightening his tie. He grabbed both her hands and forced her to focus on him. He opened his mouth to speak, when she interrupted.

"So, um, where do you want to go? To buy me many delicious mango margaritas?"

Daniel raised his eyes up to the heavens, the way he always did when he was pretending to think about this month's spread but really just wanting to get laid. His lips quirked mischievously.

"Well, I heard about this place called the "Bear Hole," where really beautiful women take their tops off."

Betty mussed his hair good then, hair that had probably taken him three hours and five bottles of gel to perfect, if his yells of protest were any indication.

Oh, yeah. So not over…

A/N: Well, folks, actually this will have to be it for this one. I wanted to leave it ambiguous and not have them jump each other's bones and ride off into the sunset. Did those two crazy kids ever work it out? Hells, yeah. You KNOW IT. That being said, you are all so amazing and so patient, but might I implore you for reviews one last time? "Thank you" does not even begin to cover it… :D