"Hey, Buddy," Steve spoke into the phone. "It's me. I'm running into a little trouble with The Beat and need some advice. I could really use your help. Call me back."

He hung up the phone and poured over the invoices once again. How could The Beat be in so much trouble? Well, he knew why . . . because Brandon wasn't around anymore. He was the journalistic backbone of the paper when it started. After he left, it became a piece of fluff -- almost like another tabloid, full of juicy scandals and poorly chosen advertisements. It sold very well for the first year or two after Brandon left, but after that, business slowed. It wasn't turning a profit anymore and he was determined not to let it sink. He and Janet knew that if nothing else, they had his trust fund to fall back on, but neither wanted to use it. They were determined to make a life on their own terms.

"How's it going?" Janet asked from the door way of the home office of Casa Walsh.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes and dropping the invoices onto the desk. "Not so well."

She smiled solemnly at him, "I think we know what we have to do then." She walked over to her husband and put her arm around his shoulder.

"Yeah, I think we do."

---------------------------------------------------

"Kelly, come on!" Donna groaned. "It's not a big deal. I designed it especially for you."

Kelly smiled at her friend, "I know, and it's gorgeous, but it's not exactly bikini kind of weather. I mean, it's October!"

"We're in the middle of a heat wave!" she protested again. "I'd wear mine, but -" she stopped, pointing to her belly, "this skimpy thing wouldn't cover a thing. Modesty would be right out the window."

Kelly laughed a little. Donna really did make a convincing argument, but it didn't change anything. "You look amazing, Donna. Hardly anyone would guess you're seven months pregnant." And really, she was right. Donna had a rather small belly that could easily be hid behind a loose dress or shirt.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well I know I'm pregnant and that's more than enough to keep me covered up." She sat down on the couch of the beachhouse. Not much had changed over the years. The color palate was the same, as was the well kept furniture. A few odds and ends had been replaced slowly over the years, but it still felt like her home. Well, her home away from David, that is. She looked over at Kelly who was lost in thought, a sad, faraway look in her eye as she gingerly traced the leaves of a corner plant. A plant that Brandon had given her.

Brandon. He'd been a sore spot over the years. They rarely spoke of him anymore -- although both were very much so aware that Brandon was involved in many aspects of their lives. Still the moral voice behind their dilemnas, on the other side of the country. A random comment about the past and Kelly would tear up . . . a time that they all considered far less complicated. A time when all of them made mistakes and wished that they could go back and do things over . . . even though things turned out pretty good. In any case, almost immediately after he'd broken their engagement and moved to DC after taking the job offer, she taken most of the things that reminded her of him down and packed it away -- probably in a box. The only thing that had remained up until a few months ago had been a framed picture of the two of them on what would've been their wedding day. Now, it was gone -- unexplained, but noticably absent.

"So, Kel . . . ?" she said softly, gently breaking her out of her thoughts. "What do you say?" She held up the bikini that was sitting beside her on the couch. "Will you put it on?"

"I'm sorry," she spoke softly, unconciously hugging herself. The truth was that she wanted to wear the suit, but she couldn't. "Maybe next spring. By then I'll have whipped myself back into shape for the tanning season," she faked cheerfully.

Although disappointed, Donna accepted the answer. "Can we still go for a walk on the beach? And get those salted fries from that new restaurant? Since you told me about those, I haven't been able to stop thinking about them."

"Sure," Kelly's smile eased, greatful that the subject was being dropped.

---------------------------------------------

"Walsh, I need that report by four!" his boss yelled at him as he walked past Brandon's office.

"Yes sir!" he called back, but it was too late -- the man was gone. He glanced down at the clock and noticed that it was almost 3:30 -- half hour to deadline.

"Bran, you proof that article that article that I dropped on your desk while you were out for lunch?" a guy asked, popping his head in the office.

Not once did Brandon take his eyes away from the computer screen as he furiously typed away.

"Call on line three, Mr. Walsh," a woman from the switchboard broke in over the intercom from her desk across the floor.

He stopped typing for a moment, just long enough to press the response button, "Thanks Connie. Can you please tell them I will be with them in a moment?"

"Yes, Mr. Walsh," she responded dutifully.

Immediately, he started typing once again and heard a gentle rapping on his door, reminding him he wasn't alone. Glancing over, he notice his co-worker waiting rather impatiently for an answer.

"Not yet, sorry."

"I brought it to you over three hours ago!"

"While I was on my lunch break," Brandon nodded, acknowledging how long it had been in his possession. "And by the way, I was working through my lunch break on notes and new ideas for the paper. Sorry that I didn't have time to do your work for you, but I'm a little busy. If you can't wait a few more hours, then I suggest you pick it up and ask someone else to proof it."

The man grabbed his work off of Brandon's desk and stalked out of the room.

By the time he'd finished working on his piece that was due by four, as well as pieces that he needed to get a head start on, and proofing other co-workers pieces for the following day, it was 8. He looked at the stack of papers on his desk that still needed to be tended to and he groaned. He used to love journalism. Maybe that's what had happened -- he loved it so much that he was willing to please his boss and new co-workers when he'd first joined the team and made himself a very valuable asset -- but somewhere along the lines had managed to take on the amount of work that three people would normally have to do.

"Screw it," he sighed, pushing his chair away from his desk. He shut the computer down and pulled on his jacket, which he'd neatly hung on the coat rack in the corner by the door. He grabbed the scarf that was under it and casually drapped it around his neck, preparing to go out into the October night.

He loved his life. Or at least, knew that he should. The weather reminded him of Minnesota. Four seasons. The crispness on a night like tonight, the sound of the dry fallen leaves cackling under his feet. He'd made a few close friends while living there, not that that was much of a surprise. But they weren't like his old gang. In any case, he rarely saw them anymore. His work was his life. He'd get up and shower in the morning, go to work, drink his coffee that the women in the office would bring him -- solely to make him notice that they existed. He'd look up, smile that heart stopping smile of his and make their hearts flutter a little faster and that would be it. They were all perfectly lovely women, but he really had next to no interest in dating. No one could ever compare. He'd tried though . . . when he first moved to DC, he went on a few dates but realised that his heart was still with Kelly. Not yet prepared to even start casually dating after something as large as almost getting married, he'd thrown himself into work, not only as a way to make himself a valued part of the team, but to avoid dealing with the fall out from his emotions. To get away from the void that leaving Kelly had left in his heart. But soon, that's all he had. Work.

He missed hanging out with his friends at the Peach Pit, or just sitting around the kitchen table in the house, drinking coffee and catching up. Or popping in a movie and having a viewing night . . . he kind of felt like the shell of what he once was -- an outgoing member of society with a group of friends who would go to the ends of the earth for him, and he for them . . .

He breathed on his hands in an attempt to warm them against the chilly East Coast air, mentally deciding to pull out his winter clothing when he got home to the one bedroom loft that he know resided in.

Yeah, on days and nights like this, he missed Beverly Hills.