After the last chapter, I thought you'd need a breather. While the Dylan/Brenda turmoil is still evidently going on, I thought it would be interesting to explore things from Brandon's perspective. While he provides some comedic relief, he's also exploring some of his feelings... for Kelly, mostly. Also, since Dylan chose Brenda, the Kelly-Dylan-Brenda conversation never happened, and, therefore, there is still a MAJOR conversation to be had about Dylan's summer fling. Not to mention the fact that Jack McKay is still in the picture. Tons of drama is still headed your way, but, in the meantime, enjoy this :). As always, your reviews are very much appreciated!
Disclaimer: I do not own Beverly Hills, 90210 or any of its characters
The kitchen was empty that morning, and eerily quiet. Brandon was accustomed to his father's incessant chatter about traffic, the sound of his mother making breakfast, the sound of coffee perking, the sound of Brenda practicing a Tennessee Williams monologue into her cereal bowl—the absence of noise entirely was… well, foreign to him.
He wondered, for a split second, if they were all playing a prank on him. Then he slowly remembered the previous night, which he had, in the slow process of waking, dismissed as a bad dream. He sometimes wondered if melodrama didn't run in the family—disowning Dylan as a theoretical son was something Brandon didn't really think Jim was entirely capable of… until last night, that was. Maybe, he thought, trying to raise his spirits, joining the circus was a good idea after all. Way less drama than living in this zip code.
Brandon tried to shrug away all the unpleasant thoughts and put a pot of coffee on as something of an experiment. While it was true he wasn't an avid coffee drinker, he figured that today, of all days, was a day to start. The fatigue and drama of the previous evening was beginning to sink in rapidly.
He poured himself a bowl of cereal hesitantly, fearing that something sinister might be lying within the realms of the nearly empty box of Cheerios. Hey, crazier things had happened and Brandon wasn't sure why that horrid feeling of anticipation was clinging so persistently to his gut. He had seen many bad horror movies. You could never dismiss something as ludicrous too quickly.
The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs had alarmed him at first—almost as much as the possibility of some evil shadow jumping out of his cereal box.
The suspense added up to a rather anti-climactic entrance. Brenda, in a faded t-shirt and shorts, aimlessly walked into the kitchen, reaching for the newly-brewed pot of coffee.
"Well, good morning, sunshine," Brandon had walked to his sister and had thrown an arm around her. "The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and Brenda Walsh has emerged from her crypt."
Brenda had thrown him a dirty glance, and had rummaged through the cupboards, groggily.
"You're not going to get anywhere by not talking about it, Bren," Brandon was animated, almost lively, "You're gonna have to talk sometime and I'm the guy who is going to incessantly annoy you until you do."
"What does someone have to do to get a mug around here?" Brenda had cried in outrage.
Brandon had casually walked to a cupboard just to the right of Brenda, and had handed her Jim's regular cup. "You know, people who are deeply bothered by a troubling experience often express anger over trivial things and hostility towards those they are closest to."
"Well, thank you, Dr. Freud," Brenda glared at Brandon momentarily, which didn't quite faze him. "Any other psychological ailments you'd like to make me aware of?"
"Let's see," Brandon stroked his chin, putting on a thick German accent. "It seems that you might be suffering from neurosis, a bout of hysteria—brought on by the onset of an odd combination of reuniting with old boyfriends and getting into fights with the notorious creature known only by his moniker: Jimbo."
"Interesting theory," Brenda had smiled, despite her foul mood. "And let me guess: Kelly Taylor is actually one of my other personalities and/or is a figment of my imagination brought on by a psychological ailment that has no cure."
"Perhaps brilliance does run in the family," Brandon raised his eyebrows, walking to the cupboard to get another mug out for himself. "Amazing, is it not? You are truly my sister after all."
Brenda smiled, momentarily, but it faded as she took a long sip of her coffee, eyeing Brandon with that look in her eyes—that "I'm-confused-by-Dylan-and-really-hurting" look.
"So, is it Showdown at Casa Walsh '93 or is it something else that's bugging you, Bren?" Brandon had dared to inquire. Brenda had hesitated, putting her cup down, thinking carefully about her answer.
"I called him last night," Brenda shrugged, leaning back on the counter. "Kelly answered the phone."
The sudden dawn of realization woke Brandon up with a start. His eyes were wide; anger was coming into play steadily. "She was at his house last night?"
"It seems as such," Brenda tried to not think about her, but her heart was beating fast. She suddenly felt entirely empty. "I don't know what to think, Brandon. I was crying, telling him I loved him, and there she was, sitting on his couch."
"Sitting on his couch?" Brandon repeated, squinting. "Are you taking creative license with this, Bren?"
"Well, I imagine she would be, sitting there in something skintight and skanky, saying 'Oh, Dylan, just take me now' or something like that," Brenda trailed off, trying to hide the hurt, if only for her own sake.
"Why don't you just sew a scarlet letter on her clothes or something?" Brandon folded his arms, before heaving a little sigh. "Bren, don't get me wrong. I don't think Kelly's a girl scout or anything, but don't you think you're being a little harsh?" Brandon looked down, wondering why he was coming to Kelly's defense. He wasn't even supposed to like her at the moment.
"Why are you defending her, Brandon? She's been nothing but a bitch throughout this whole thing, trying to strike and steal Dylan when I'm not looking," Brenda narrowed her eyes.
"Bren, you're being unfair… and, a little woe-is-me-Sylvia Plath-esque, to be honest," Brandon put his arms on either shoulder. "Let's just think about this rationally."
"Oh, well, rationally it is then," Brenda spoke sardonically, "I'm sure Kelly and Dylan were just having a cute, totally appropriate discussion about homework or something. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go stick my head in the oven." She began to walk away, and had almost reached the stairs, when they heard what they first mistook as thunder. In another moment, Brenda realized that it was the rev of a motorcycle—Dylan's motorcycle.
She stopped dead in her tracks. "You do know that I was kidding about the whole Sylvia Plath thing," Brandon followed her to the foot of the stairwell. "Right? Brenda?"
"Dylan's here," She said softly, blankly. "Dylan's here and he's going to tell me he changed his mind, that he wants Kelly and there's nothing I can do about it—and I'm not even dressed! Oh God, this can't be happening." Brenda ran to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
Brandon, somewhat confounded by her words, rushed to the window, pulling back the curtains. Dylan, removing his helmet, was, sure as day, stepping off of his motorcycle. Curiously, Kelly was nowhere in sight.
Brandon had absently opened the door, surprised to find Dylan already standing behind it. "Where is she?" Dylan said, his eyes wild.
Brandon closed the door behind him, glancing nervously in the direction of the stairwell. "She's probably taking a shower." Dylan pushed past him. "Upstairs—upstairs, where you can't go. Listen, are you okay, man? I heard about what happened."
Dylan turned around, facing him, in something of a daze. "I don't care what Jim said to me, Bran. It hurt, but, you know, Jim isn't a warm and fuzzy guy. I'm not either. Thing is, I love your sister and I really messed things up. I didn't even do it on purpose. I just," He rubbed his eyes in a frustrated motion, "I don't know what to do about it."
"Stop seeing Kelly, for one," Brandon said, awkwardly wiping the sweat from his forehead, wondering how his Saturday morning had so quickly went awry.
"I'm not seeing her, Brandon," Dylan said, obviously agitated. "You don't even understand what's going on here."
"Well, why don't you enlighten me?" Brandon didn't know where the sudden hostility was coming from, but he was going with it.
"Don't you have any faith in me, Brandon? I renewed my promise to you—I went through all of this trouble because I love your sister. I chose your sister. I'm in love with Brenda in a way that I can't even fathom," Dylan sighed. "If you really have to know, when I got home last night, she'd somehow gotten into the house. I tried to kick her out. She was coming on to me, and all I could think about was Brenda—the pain I'd caused Brenda. She answered the phone when Brenda called. I tried to explain, but I don't think she got it. I don't think I'd get it either. Kelly is persistent. She always has been. I know it seems cheap to blame her, but after last night, man, I don't know."
"I want to believe you, Dylan," Brandon looked down. "I do believe you, I guess. I'm just worried about Brenda."
The door creaked open. Brenda, now wearing a tight, short dress and Dylan's leather jacket, had the same empty look in her eyes as she had before. She walked down the stairwell, making eye contact with Dylan. She was instantaneously reminded of the moment she'd seen Dylan the day she came home from Paris. She could remember vaguely Kelly's look of disdain upon seeing him, and how strange it had been, the three of them, together. Reason was suddenly taking her over.
Dylan met her at the bottom, staring at her with a deep, obvious longing.
"Didn't hear what you said on the phone to my proposition, but, either way, I'm not going to stop trying to explain." He reached for her hand. She took it, limply.
"Well, explain away. I'm more than happy to listen," Brenda folded her arms.
"Can we maybe go somewhere? Maybe just the two of us?" Dylan shrugged, glancing to Brandon, who had no response.
"Let's go then," She said, walking towards the door. "I want to get out of here anyway."
He followed, still holding her hand—and, for the first time in a while, no one interrupted anything. Brandon merely watched through the curtain as they mounted the bike, as Brenda wrapped her arms around Dylan's waist, as they pulled back onto Hillcrest, speeding off into the distance.