Fair warning: this is much more theatrical and soapy than my other two B/D stories, contains significantly more language, involves heavy use of drugs and includes physical violence.
One-Shot. Occurs halfway through Season 4, Episode 29: "Truth and Consequences" with one vital difference: everything that happened the day following Laura's psychotic request did not take place.
xx
He blamed the envelope in his father's old sock drawer.
In his childhood, he would reread its letter over and over until the page ripped in half, the note from all of his father's fraternity brothers on the occasion of his parents' wedding.
It was that letter that influenced him to enroll in higher education, simply for the chance to become a KEG brother himself.
As the semester dwindled away and summer vacation drew nearer, Steve Sanders found that he quickly regretted his decision.
In his first year of university alone, he'd been accused of homophobia, wanted for date rape he didn't inflict, busted for swiping a professor's baseball, lost his girlfriend after a favor carried out for his fraternity brother and now, he'd had a massive fight with one of his closest friends who happened to be the sister of his best friend.
To say Steve was upset would be greatly underwhelming the situation and, as far as he was concerned, the fault lay entirely with California University as well as, to some extent, best friend Brandon Walsh for attending CU in the first place and persuading Steve there by default.
He knew he should have gone to USC.
"Hey, have you guys seen Bren? She didn't come home last night or the night before." Showcasing the result of a sleepless night, Brandon slumped into a chair at the student union.
"I haven't seen her since we talked over there a couple days ago. She was supposed to call me yesterday to discuss our assignment, but I guess she got caught up in rehearsal." Looking up from his book, Steve's other best friend, Dylan McKay, slurped the inferior coffee of the university café. He cringed. "How difficult is it to make a decent cup of coffee?"
"That's the thing, bro. She skipped rehearsal."
"What do you mean, skipped rehearsal? Bren would never skip rehearsal."
"Mario from poli-sci is in the play with her and he told me she skipped. Randolph is pissed. Says it's the second time she's done it."
"That doesn't make sense, B. I know Brenda. She would never intentionally miss a rehearsal, especially not for a play she fought so hard to be in."
"What about you, Kel? Have you seen her?" Brandon tilted his head at the wavy blonde seated across from Dylan.
"She said she'd meet Donna and I to help us with something for the sorority, but she flaked like she always does just because we didn't deny the rumor." Kelly Taylor glanced up from filing her nails.
"Like she always does?" Dylan repeated disbelievingly. "Because it's just like Brenda to flake, right, Kel? Obviously slept with the director for her part, clearly called me to get her in Palm Springs when in fact she tried to call you and I just happened to pick up. God, Kelly, I swear I don't even recognize you anymore," he hissed. "Later, B, Sanders. I gotta get to the library before class. I'll tell Bren you're looking for her." He stood abruptly, swung his book bag over his shoulder and began to power walk down the hall.
Humiliated, Kelly's eyes fell to Brandon and then to Steve before she jumped up to follow Dylan.
The two boys exchanged a glance of their own, hurrying to their feet to subtly trail the bickering couple.
"There you go again, ripping into me to jump to her defense!" Kelly's arms planted firmly across her chest.
"Kel, do we really have to do this here? In front of everyone?" Dylan asked irritably.
"Where else are we gonna do it, Dylan? Your place? No, sorry, Brenda shows up and I'm suddenly invisible, literally pushed to the side. Why are you even with me if you want her so badly?" Kelly's tone raised, invoking curiosity from passing students.
"That's the most sense you've made all year." He led her to the back corner of an empty classroom, allowing Brandon and Steve an unnoticed vantage point of their conversation from a second open classroom attached to the first. "Why are you even with me if you want Brandon so badly?"
Steve stilled, observing his friend's bated breath waiting for Kelly's response.
"I - I don't know what you're talking about," she squeaked, nervously rubbing her palms against her high-waisted jeans.
"Don't you?" Dylan gave her a hard stare.
"He - he doesn't want me," Kelly said almost inaudibly.
Steve decided Brandon's current reaction indicated a completely different story, mixed with slight hesitation likely resulting from his concern over eavesdropping on the private conversation.
"And Bren doesn't want me." Steve swore Dylan's voice shook.
"Then what are we doing?" Kelly's hand slipped into his.
"I don't know." Dylan sighed, scratching the back of his neck. "Do you love me, Kel?"
"I do. You're the first guy I've ever loved," she swallowed, "but -"
"But you're not in love with me."
Steve thought Dylan's statement came out entirely too matter-of-fact for the situation. If Kelly Taylor confessed a similar emotion to Steve Sanders, who had harbored his own love for her since their short-lived romance as high school freshmen, heartbroken wouldn't adequately define his mental state.
"Do you love me, Dylan?"
"I - I think so."
"You either know or you don't." Kelly crossed the room, nearing the boys' hiding place. Brandon rolled to the side. Steve slid under a table, scuffing his expensive new boots.
"I'm sorry, Kel." Dylan's hands shifted into his pockets. "I don't know."
"Yeah," she said quietly, "that's what I thought."
"But I do know I don't want to keep fighting with you just because you have a problem with me being friends with the girl I lo - used to love." He bit his lower lip, hand cupped around the side of his neck as he rolled his head from side to side.
"Dylan," she sighed, sitting on a table with her legs swinging over the edge. "We just have to face it. We're both in love and it isn't with each other."
Steve heard Brandon's heavy breathing and aimed a secretive grin in his direction.
"I'm not in love with Brenda," Dylan replied adamantly.
"I didn't mention Bren." Kelly arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow.
"I'm just saying, Kel. Bren knows me better than anyone and she says I'm not in love with her, so clearly I'm not in love with her."
"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?" Kelly displayed her amusement in a half-smile.
Steve's throat selected to close up at that precise moment, initiating a coughing fit over his digested breakfast.
"Steve! Shh, bro, you're gonna get us busted," Brandon whispered, gently smacking his back.
"Too late."
A pair of dark boots and lighter heels appeared in Steve's line of vision. He slowly lifted his head upward as Brandon did the same.
Heads both tilted to the side, Dylan and Kelly peered down at the intruders.
"Did our breakup satisfy your viewing pleasure?" His hand shot out to help Steve stand.
"Breakup?" Brandon's aqueous eyes focused on Kelly's soft blue.
"Yeah." Dylan gifted him with a curt nod. "We've been fighting so much lately, we'd probably start hating each other soon."
"Yeah and I don't want to hate him," Kelly timidly added without breaking her gaze on Brandon. "How much did you hear?"
"Enough to know we need to talk," he answered, matching her decibel. "If that's okay with you, D," he quickly added.
Dylan's shoulders lifted into a disinterested shrug.
"Have at it, bro." His eyes flicked to his watch. "Guess I'll have to forget the library. Time for poetry."
"Good. Make sure Brenda knows how upset I am with her for staying out past curfew."
"And you and your sister still have curfew because?" Dylan began.
"Dude, don't ask."
The foursome separated for their respective classes, planning to meet up in the café later that afternoon.
Steve's lack of attention in sociology did not go unnoticed by Brandon, who repeatedly tapped him to focus on their droning professor, Corey Randall.
He did, however, slightly perk up when Randall began to discuss the concept of social phenomenology, which Steve and Brandon then reiterated on their way back to the student union.
"That's it, man. I'm officially either royally pissed off at your sister or incredibly concerned." Dylan threw his books on the table, kicking his feet up over a chair.
"She wasn't in class?" Brandon's eyes shifted from his newspaper to Dylan's slouched stance.
"No, she wasn't in class and today was her big presentation I helped her work on for hours last week." His knees knocked repeatedly under the table. "So unless she decided to throw all my hard work away and bail, which isn't like her at all, then I'm really worried, bro."
"Bren ditched rehearsal yesterday, forgot to meet Kel and Don, forgot to call you, hasn't been home for two nights in a row and wasn't in class for a presentation that's worth - how much of your grade, D?"
"Ninety."
Brandon emitted a low whistle.
"I don't care what kind of protests she's getting involved with these days or what harebrained scheme she comes up with next. There's no way my studious twin sister would miss a presentation worth ninety percent of her grade."
In the entire time Steve had known Brenda Walsh, she'd missed two major assignments: once when she was undergoing an operation and then again when she ran out of an exam during a period of great trauma.
Next to their dear friend Andrea Zuckerman, as well as Brandon himself, Brenda cared the third most in their friend group about her academic standing to a point Steve never understood.
"Maybe she's with Stewie." Steve saw Dylan's annoyance the moment his idea became a suggestion.
"Or not," he hurriedly added.
"Let's head for your dorm, big guy. I'll make a couple calls." Brandon discarded his styrofoam cup, shooting it straight into the trash can from afar.
The boys entered residential Marlowe Hall in the direction of Andrea's dorm, temporarily taken over by Steve.
He unlocked the door, ripping off a lined piece of notebook paper he found taped outside.
"Sometimes, when you lie in wait, the canary catches the cat," Steve read aloud as he shrugged out of his backpack. "The canary catches the cat? What the hell does that mean? I thought the cat was supposed to catch the canary."
"That's got to be Bren." Brandon snatched at the paper. "Maggie the Cat, she's the cat."
"Then who the fuck is the canary?"
"Sanders," Dylan eyed the area nearest the door frame, "I'm gonna ask you something and I need you to be honest with me, man."
"Okay." Steve's eyes creased in puzzlement.
"Are you doing needles?"
"What?"
"Are you doing needles?" Dylan repeated, enunciating every word with a flop of his stylized hair.
"The fuck you on about, bro?" Steve's face flushed angrily. "Of course I'm not doing needles. Those things will kill you. I'm one hundred percent drug-free."
"Then Zuckerman has decided to take recreational drugs?"
"He's officially lost it," Steve told Brandon, nonplussed. "Thinking the heavily pregnant Andrea Zuckerman-Vasquez would willingly inject herself. Completely lost it."
"If you aren't doing needles and Andrea sure as hell isn't doing needles, why is there a used needle sitting on the carpet?" Dylan explained, pointing to the offensive object.
Brandon whipped his head around towards Steve.
"Steve, do we need to have an intervention?"
"Brandon, I'm not doing drugs!"
"Then what the fuck is a needle doing sitting in Andrea's dorm room?" Dylan glared.
"Who else has access to this room, Steve?" Brandon latched on to some semblance of calm absent in Dylan's angered exterior.
"The RA, Kathy Fisher," Steve replied automatically, "but she wouldn't -" He gasped, bright blue eyes widening dramatically.
"Steve?"
"Laura. Laura has access to this room."
"Laura, your girlfriend Laura? Laura who threatened to accuse you of date rape until Kel stepped in Laura? Why does Laura have unrestricted access to Andrea's dorm room, Steve?"
"Wait, hold on, let me get this straight. You're dating a girl who almost accused you of date rape?" Dylan grimaced, raising one hand sideways in his speech.
"So? Bran told the girl who drugged him that he loved her," Steve defended.
"That," Brandon paused, "is not the same thing."
"Isn't it?"
"Can we go back to the part about you letting Laura Kingman come into Andrea's room whenever the hell she feels like it?" Brandon scowled.
"Look, it's just if she wants to show up for a quickie in the afternoon and she gets here before me."
A flabbergasted Dylan spoke up before Brandon could respond.
"Did you say Kingman, B?"
"Yeah, D. Laura Kingman. Steve's girlfriend."
"Kingman? Like the nineteenth century 'King of the Fancy?' Otherwise known as the crested canary?" Dylan tore the note from Brandon's clasp.
"How the hell do you even know that?" asked an amazed Steve.
"There's a horror comedy film from the '30s, remade from a '20s silent film, based on a '20s play. Kinda had a phase of reading anything about canaries I could get my hands on after I first watched. It's got Bob Hope in it. Paulette Goddard, swear she had eyes like Brenda. Black and white picture, not your style, Sanders."
"McKay," Steve impatiently interrupted.
"Right," Dylan nodded, "so anyway, it's called 'The Cat and the Canary' and -" he paused, cocoa-hued eyes filling with horror.
"And?" Brandon pressed.
"And in the film," Dylan's voice lowered to a quiver just above a whisper, "there are eight people who are told one of them will die by the end of the night."
"Eight?" Steve swallowed. "Like our gang of eight?"
"Yeah. Eight people running from an escapee of an insane asylum while they try to figure out which of them won't live to the next day."
"Well we know we're here. Andrea's at Jesse's. Kel and Don took Erin to the movies with Silver. That just leaves -" Steve halted.
The three boys stared at each other in terror.
"Brenda," they said synchronously.
"Oh shit." Steve sat on the bed, shoulders sinking. "Fuck. What have I done?"
"What did you do, Sanders?" Dylan looked to Brandon before they both crossed their arms at Steve.
"I thought she was kidding. I swear to God, I thought she was kidding."
"Steve, what the hell are you on about?" Brandon's shoulders raised.
"Bran, she called late that night and said she was kidding. I swear on my mother she did. I would've told you the next morning if she didn't."
"Told me what?" he inquired, exasperated.
"Laura was over here the other day and she -" Glancing at both boys, his line of vision catapulted to the floor. "She asked me to kidnap Bren."
"I'm sorry, Sanders, I don't think I heard you correctly." Dylan's hand raised to cup the back of his ear. "My ears must be waterlogged from yesterday's surf. Could've sworn you said your girlfriend asked you to kidnap our good friend Brenda."
"Good friend, D?" Brandon's lips curved into a teasing smile.
"Not now, B."
"Kidnap and lock her in a closet," Steve mumbled, appearing the epitome of a stranded traveller urgently seeking shelter, "or give her some kind of small injury, like a broken finger or a toe, her jaw, make it look like an accident."
"Wait. You're serious?" Dylan steadied himself against the desk chair.
"Your girlfriend asked you to kidnap my sister over a damn play?" Brandon fumed, his nostrils flaring.
"That's not all." Steve dropped his head into his hands. "Laura crank called Mama Walsh and told her the wrong time for Brenda's rehearsal, the first one she missed. And Laura," he inhaled, rubbing his lips together, "Laura is the one who mentioned Randolph's reputation for sleeping with his leading ladies and then when Kel said Bren went to Randolph's and he gave her a second chance, well, I mean, it just kind of clicked. Or, I thought it did."
A hush fell over the room, broken only by a buzzing yellowjacket humming over a bushel of flowers placed directly underneath the sun streaked window.
"Sanders, did it ever occur to you that Brenda is probably still madly in love with Stewie, no matter what she says to the contrary," Dylan's tone soured, "and to think with your head, instead of your dick? On what planet would Bren fall into bed with a virtual stranger just for a role in a play?"
"The girl who would've lied to the entire campus, resulting in your expulsion and undoubtable blacklisting, because she felt scorned after you cheated on Celeste with her, hints that Bren could've slept with Roy Randolph and you take it as solid fact? I owe my sister one massive apology." Brandon threw himself on the bed, hitting his head against his hand.
"Dammit, Jones. Not you, too." Infuriated, Dylan seated himself on the desk chair with his back facing the desk.
"Bren's been doing all kinds of crazy shit this year, D. Running off to Vegas. Breaking into campus laboratories. She very clearly bombed the callback and yet, she's offered the lead. It didn't seem entirely out of the realm of possibility."
"You're just itching for me to punch you this semester, aren't you, Walsh?"
"I know, brother. Okay, I know. I wasn't thinking. Can we please just find my sister so I can start groveling?" Brandon's fingers slid through his hair.
Dylan tangled his shaking fingers together.
"She could be anywhere." His chin fell to his neck.
Brandon lifted Andrea's phone off of the receiver. Dylan maintained a steady glare on Steve, whose throat increasingly burnt with each shake of Brandon's head.
"She isn't home, isn't at Jesse's, Nat hasn't seen her and he says she was gonna stop in after class yesterday to help him figure out a present for Joey's grandkid. Even tried Stuart and nothing." Brandon studied the numbers on the telephone keypad. "Laura lives on campus, doesn't she? Bren might be around somewhere," he added, voice carrying substantially more hope than shown in his features.
"We know she isn't in Lindley Hall." Dylan nibbled the corner of his lip. "Pretty safe bet to say she isn't here in Marlowe Hall."
"The theatre is in Evans Hall," Steve noted meekly, buried in his imaginings of the possible discovery they would happen upon when they did locate Brenda, in addition to his self-loathing for doubting her.
"Boys, we're off to Evans Hall." Brandon's hands scurried down his slacks as he leapt to his feet. "Gotta catch the cat before the canary does."
"I thought the canary already did?"
"Sanders, I don't want to hear one word out of you unless it's a gargantuan apology to Bren when we find her and goddammit, we will find her," Dylan remarked, attempting an equanimity which did not reflect in the agitation swirling through his eyes.
They jogged in silence to the theatre, the sky fading to grey dusk around them. Upon finding the front doors locked, the three boys unanimously cursed.
Brandon set his elbows on the stair railing, eyeing a disheartened Dylan.
"Maybe she went to your place."
"She doesn't come over much anymore, unless Erica is around." Dylan scanned the area, his boots shuffling against the concrete.
"I guess she could be home by now," Brandon's breathing puffed out unevenly. "Let's go."
Steve opened his mouth to respond and was immediately cut off by Dylan leaping into a bush.
"Wasn't Bren wearing this?" He withdrew a black boot, examining it closely.
"That's her favorite pair of boots," Brandon replied in a choked tone.
"Lots of people probably have those boots, right?" Steve pointed out to lighten the tension.
"Shut up, Sanders," Dylan growled, aiming a shrink ray at Steve with only his eyes.
"He's not exactly wrong, D," Brandon noted, "but not everyone got the boots from their cousin's cruise in Japan."
"Bobby went on a cruise to Japan?"
"Sanders!"
"No, not Bobby. Our cousin Lottie, his sister. Check the inside." Brandon tried to snatch the boot from Dylan, whose grasp tightened as if he held a life preserver. "Lottie personalizes everything. If it's Bren's, we'll know."
Dylan tilted the boot forward, lifting the flap.
"BF?"
"It's Brenda's." Brandon jerked the boot out of Dylan's vice grip.
"What's BF?"
"It's a family thing."
"We're family," Steve remarked.
"Sanders, what did I tell you!" Dylan scowled, clenching and unclenching his fists.
"But I want to talk, McKay!"
"Yeah, you lost that privilege the second you used your voice to contribute to the bullshit lies about Brenda."
"Look, Dylan, I said -"
"Guys! Do you hear something?" Brandon moved both hands vertically as indication to cease their quarrel.
A shadowy figure darted to the other side of the building, donned in a thin, satin dress and tight blonde curls unveiled by the moon.
"That's Laura. She's wearing my mother's dress." Steve stared straight ahead.
"You gave her your mother's dress?"
"It was on loan for her callback, McKay. I didn't plan for her to parade around in it."
They watched Laura rap several times on a side door, her movement becoming more frantic with each passing moment. Camouflaged by darkness, the boys crept closer.
"Did you bring the stuff?" A muscled twentysomething opened the door.
"Got it right here." Laura held up a clear bag of what appeared to be various substances. "Did you have any trouble?"
"No, piece of cake. Likes to bite, though."
"If the pixiebob bites, the pixiebob gets put to sleep," she calmly stated.
"That wasn't part of the deal."
"Would be quite the catastrophe if you were to be declawed, wouldn't it?"
"Bro, I think your girlfriend is overly obsessed with cats," Brandon whispered.
An iceberg mammoth in size compared to the one that sunk the Titanic lodged itself in Steve's chest. He'd become fond of Laura Kingman over their brief relationship and, having only a few days previously defended Laura to Brenda, he began to ponder whether the woman was, in fact, deeply disturbed.
He should have, of course, already been keenly aware of her mental state, as the near victim of her troublesome wrath, but when a girl planted herself in his presence, Steve often found it difficult to look past certain assets.
"Pixiebob," Dylan stated lowly, his knuckles whitening against a tree, "pixies are small, like small in height, like maybe a shortie with a bobbed haircut. Goddammit!" Charging forward, he was shortly halted by Brandon clamping down on his shoulders to hold him back. "Let me go, Walsh," he sibilated.
"If Bren is in there, you can't just go charging in, McKay."
"The hell I can't."
"At this point, I think it's safe to say Laura might be more than a few watts short of a bulb," Brandon's eyes flickered briefly on Steve, "and right now, she might be nearest to Bren. The second you go storming in, you could rattle her and whatever the hell she has planned for my sister could get worse. You've got to calm down."
"How the fuck am I supposed to calm down?"
Catching a glimpse of the man speaking to his girlfriend - soon-to-be former girlfriend, if she had anything to do with Brenda Walsh's disappearance - Steve swallowed past the boulder in his throat.
"She's talking to Artie."
"Artie as in former KEG man Artie Devers?" Brandon's confused gaze jumped to Steve.
"Yeah. Artie."
"Artie as in hates your guts because of the recent situation with Ryan Artie?"
"Brando, how many times do I need to spell it out for you? Yes, that Artie."
"Let me get this straight. Sanders' girlfriend has some kind of deal with this guy who is pissed off at Sanders and they could both be in on the reason Brenda is missing? Steve, you better make like a duck and hightail it." Dylan's countenance resembled a steaming engine climbing up a steep hill.
"Why?"
"Because I'm gonna make you quack."
Brandon leapt in between the two fuming boys.
"Cool it, McKay. Look, we wait until there's an opening, slip in and see for ourselves that they're talking about a legitimate cat they for some reason have stashed in the theatre, okay?"
Dylan continued to glower at Steve.
"Fine," he huffed, kicking at a tree. "Shit!" he uttered, jumping up and down holding the toe of his boot.
"Well, you might not want to kick a tree, bro."
"Yeah. I got that. Thanks." Dylan turned his glare to Brandon.
A bloodcurdling scream streamed through the partially cracked door as Laura and Artie remained in discussion. Steve could feel his bones chill in response; from the expressions on his friends' faces, he believed theirs equally reacted.
"That was no damn cat." Dylan bristled, his face contorting until he appeared precisely the dolorous boy who lost his father to a car bomb in their senior year.
"That was Bren. I'd stake my life on it." Brandon's features skipped around from enraged to petrified.
Bile crept up Steve's esophagus, burning through his jaw.
Laura pivoted in a quick sprint, Artie following directly behind. Steve jumped towards the closing door, catching it with his foot in the manner of a baseball player sliding into home plate at the last possible moment.
"Nice one." Brandon entered the low-lit building, Dylan right on his heels.
"Looks like kitty needs more milk," Laura's mocking tone called from the stage.
"How much more milk? Already had one dose too many. I'm not interested in murder, Kingman." Artie's voice raised, carrying across the theatre.
"See what happens when you don't play fair?" she jeered. "If I need to do the feeding myself, I will."
The screaming ceased and with it, Steve's heartbeat did, as well.
"Bro, if you faint on us, I swear I will sic Clare on you." Brandon signaled for Dylan to help him with the tottering Steve.
"Clare's hot," Steve mumbled, though he stood upright.
They snuck into the theatre, immediately bowled over at what they saw inside.
Laura bent on the catwalk with needle in hand, hovering over a chair placed under a thick rope dangling from the ceiling. She turned ever so slightly, allowing Steve a vantage point that caused him to be more sickened than he already felt.
"Sanders, what the fuck is your girlfriend doing with my girlf - girl who is a friend?" Dylan appeared seconds away from tearing through the building.
"Your psycho girlfriend didn't get the part she wanted and now she's hell bent on torturing my sister because of it? What the hell, Steve! You sure know how to pick 'em." Brandon gripped a velveted seat until the color of his face matched the chair.
Steve's feet remained superglued to the floor, lifting only when Laura aimed the needle.
Adrenaline overtook fear. He raced forward, Dylan and Brandon running right alongside.
"Laura! Laura, stop!"
Steve hoped that his outburst would thwart Laura's plan, but it occurred too late. He watched, horrified, as the substance worked its way through Brenda's system and the color drained from her face.
"No! Brenda!" Dylan cried, staggering against Brandon.
"You want me to stop, Steve? Why? Why should I stop?" Laura's voice sounded more deranged than Steve had ever heard from anyone outside of a Hollywood set.
"Because she's my friend, Laura!"
"You said she wasn't, Steve. You said you were friends with Brandon, not her."
"You said what?" Brandon and Dylan asked as one, turning to Steve accusingly.
"I - I thought she had it out for Laura. Laura told me she did," he cowered.
"And you believed her? C'mon, man, you believed a two second fling over Brenda?" The pain radiating off of Dylan mixed with incredulity.
"Bren called me weak," Steve explained feebly, realizing how pathetic he sounded the moment he spoke.
"Man, you were weak," Dylan spoke brusquely. "This is the same Brenda Walsh who stood outside the bus station and ensured you knew we loved you before you took off to New Mexico."
"The same Brenda who willingly listened to your nineteenth rendition of your winning basketball shot." Brandon seethed. "The Brenda you co-collaborated on a farewell bash for. The Brenda you were so worried about in the Peach Pit stickup."
"The Brenda who -"
"Okay, guys, I get it." Steve's shoulders hunched forward.
"Oh, you brought guests to our performance. How nice," Laura gushed. "Steve, you know my leading man, don't you? You're well acquainted with Artie. I'm afraid my understudy is a little indisposed at the moment."
"I'm going to bury you." Dylan planted a right hook on Artie before the other man could react.
"How could you do this, Devers?" Steve's gaze pinpointed the unmoving Brenda, his lungs squeezing into a vial.
"I lost my fraternity because of you, Sanders." The man looked up from the floor, holding the side of his jaw.
"What does Brenda have to do with you trying to blackball Ryan?" Steve yelled, kicking at his fallen ex-brother.
"Walsh is your best friend. She's his sister. Put two and two together, Sanders," Artie gasped.
"You're dead." Brandon leapt on him. The two boys rolled across the stage, interlocked, throwing fists every which way.
Dylan's boots kicked up dust particles in his rush to get on the catwalk. He flew up the ladder, taking the rungs two at a time with Steve following closely behind.
Steve snatched at Laura, tossing her over his shoulder and cursing when she scratched him.
"Bren." Dylan swallowed heavily, falling to his knees. He examined the ropes searing into her lifeless body. "Sanders! Give me your pocket knife."
Steve handed over the requested tool, emitting a choked whistle.
"What the hell did you do to her, Laura?" he hollered.
"She didn't play fair. Why should I?" she replied in a near chirp, a similar remark to the one she made when suggesting Steve assist in a kidnapping.
"You're insane!" Dylan responded, cutting through the ropes in rapid, careful movement. Upon Brenda's release, her slack figure fell forward into his arms. He carefully carried her down the ladder, laying her on the stage.
Bruised and battered, Brandon extracted himself from a writhing Artie Devers.
"Bren." Dylan's hands roamed her body. "Brenda," he said, more urgently.
At her lack of response, Steve's heart dissipated from his chest. Somehow, despite his severe haze, he managed to return to the stage with Laura.
"Brenda! Can you hear me?" Dylan panicked, his terror shedding onto Brandon.
"Okay, Bren, that's enough with the theatrics. Time to get up," he said, stern-faced.
Dylan's fingers jumped to her neck.
"Hey, sis, did you hear Dylan and Kelly broke up?" Brandon tried, lifting one shoulder at the boy whose face began to mar in bewilderment.
"Did you hear that, Brenda? Dylan is free," Steve found his voice.
"Yeah, Bren," Dylan muttered, "Kel and I are done."
The three boys' somewhat calm exteriors transitioned into fear when the revelation of Dylan's reestablished singlehood did not result in the intended effect.
"Brenda?" Dylan's voice sounded small and childlike. "Baby, please open your beautiful eyes. Please."
"What did you give her, Laura?" Steve interrogated, clutching the blonde by the arm.
"Oh, you know, a little of this, a little of that, some of this and that," she giggled hauntingly. "A witch's brew for a sleazy witch."
"If you've killed my sister, jail will be the least of your concerns," Brandon stalked towards her.
"Bran," Steve stopped him, "Brandon, I've got this. You go call the cops."
"And an ambulance," Dylan added quietly. His forehead pressed against Brenda's, his fingers lifting her hair to the side.
"Why can't D call them? I want to stay with my sister!"
"Because I'm not leaving her." Arms clenched around her waistline, Dylan rocked the unconscious Brenda, desperate in his search to locate a pulse.
"And I can't let Laura loose." Steve glared at his assuredly ex-girlfriend.
"I hate you both," Brandon said and sprinted out of the theatre to find a payphone.
Brenda stirred in Dylan's arms, her eyes still closed.
"Thank God," Dylan breathed, burying his face into her neck. "Don't ever scare us like that again."
Steve's organs rearranged when Brenda's bloodshot, heavily dilated eyes opened and she thrashed about, screaming.
"Bren?" Dylan timidly lifted his head. "Baby?" He looked into her unseeing eyes, his own enlarging in sheer horror. "What the fuck did you give her?" he shouted at Laura, trying to hold onto Brenda in spite of her convulsions.
"I gave her what she deserved," Laura smiled sweetly.
"You kidnapped and drugged her over a goddamn play! What do you think this is, a soap opera?" he glowered. "If anything happens to her, I vow I will make sure your prison stay isn't so comfortable, if you even make it that far."
In his entire nineteen years, Steve Sanders had hit one girl - if a light tap on Molly Bruton's shoulder in second grade when she stole his volleyball constituted a hit. His mother, Samantha Sanders, forced him to apologize continuously until he found an ounce of genuine regret; his father, Rush Sanders, ensured he would never again physically harm a girl by siccing his older nephew on Steve.
And he never had.
Yet, whilst inches away from the officially cracked Laura Kingman, he wanted to forget every bit of that childhood lesson and sock her straight in her overly smug jaw.
He listened to Dylan's strangled whisper, undoubtedly only uttered in the belief that no one could overhear.
"You have to be okay, Bren. Please. Please be okay. We don't even have to be together. If all we can ever be is friends, I'll take it. I just need you alive and well. That's all that matters." Silently grasping the squirming Laura, Steve noticed the shiny streak rolling down Dylan's face. "Brenda, I still love you. You're wrong, okay? You're so wrong. I'm in love with you and I need you to fight this shit like you've never fought before because I refuse to lose you to drugs you don't even fucking do."
Brandon darted back into the theatre, accompanied by the loud radios of policemen and the urgent declarations of paramedics.
Steve released Laura to the cops, detailing their former relationship and her mental breakdown so thoroughly that a policewoman informed him of his oversharing.
Brandon coaxed Dylan to allow the removal of Brenda from his shaky arms.
"Only one can ride along. Which of you will it be?" asked a paramedic lifting Brenda onto the gurney.
"Me. I'm her friend." Steve's death glare to Laura contained all the force of an Arctic glacier.
"I'll go. I'm her brother." Brandon began to follow the gurney.
"No. I'll go. I'm her husband." Dylan rushed over, grabbing Brenda's hand as they departed with the paramedics.
Brandon and Steve exchanged a bewildered glance.
"Her husband?" they questioned loudly, in unison.
"Low blow," Brandon scowled. "They aren't even dating. Should be me with her." He looked over at Laura. "I hope they throw the book at you and throw away the key."
"Why didn't you help me, Steve?" she shrieked, clawing at her hair. "You said I was the better actress! You said that should've been my part! She stole it. She slept with Randolph. You should've helped me! You're no better than her."
"You're no actress, Laura," said Steve scornfully. "The role belongs to Brenda. She never slept with Randolph. If she's permanently affected in any way, I will hate you forever. And in case you haven't figured it out by now, we're over. I never want to see you again. Come on, Bran. We've got a cat to follow - CU's one and only Maggie the Cat."
Before the boys left, they were subjected to the sight of an enraged Laura encountering a tranquilizer following her savage biting of a policeman's arm.
"Just think, Stevie. If you'd stayed with her a second longer, you'd need rabies shots."
"Not funny, Brando."
They raced across campus back to Andrea's dorm. Steve lay staring at the ceiling. Brandon paced.
The ringing phone elicited a momentary fright in both. Dylan spoke on the other end, angrily informing over the receiver that he hadn't yet received an update, that Brenda was in with a team of doctors who he swore didn't know shit and the name of the hospital in which she'd been brought.
They raced to Brandon's car, driving to the chaotic building in agitated silence.
A broken Dylan greeted them in the waiting room, collapsing against Brandon. Both his hands and Steve's immediately snaked around the boy in comfort.
"I can't lose her, B. I won't lose her," Dylan whispered, unquestionably past the point of feigning friendship with his own ex-girlfriend.
"She'll be okay, D. I'll feel it if she isn't," Brandon replied soothingly. "If I felt it when she got her appendix out, I'll feel this."
"I'm sorry, McKay, Bran. I'm so sorry. This is my fault. I should've realized how crazy Laura really was before she could do anything to Bren. I never should've spread that rumor. God, if she isn't okay -" Steve choked on a sob.
"I won't entertain that possibility," Brandon replied firmly. "Especially with her husband over here." He raised an eyebrow at Dylan.
"I noticed Brenda wearing one of her rings." Dylan's hand trembled through his hair. "I couldn't let them take her without me. It was a quick reaction. Switched it to her left hand right before they got to her side."
"Since you're now my bro-in-law, I take it you're interested in my sister as a bit more than friends." Brandon managed a sliver of amusement.
"Right now, I just need to know she's alive." Dylan sunk into a chair, setting his head in his hands.
Brandon sat beside him, circling Dylan's shoulder with his arm.
"I'll go call the others." Steve hung his head, leaving in search of a phone.
By the time Dylan spotted the appropriate doctor and leapt to his feet, they'd been joined by a weeping Donna Martin, a fiercely apologetic Kelly Taylor and finally, a worried David Silver who stumbled in as the windows of the waiting room beckoned in the first sunlight of a new day.
Steve thought that it was just like life to send Brenda into a medical emergency the one time Mama and Papa Walsh decided to fly out to visit friends across the country in Buffalo, New York.
"Family of Brenda Walsh?"
"That's us." Kelly's hand rested on Brandon's arm, her other hand squeezing his.
Steve and Donna held onto either side of Dylan, the latter whispering assurances in his ear.
"You're her family?" the doctor asked, skeptically.
"I'm her twin brother." Brandon inhaled sharply. "Can we see her?"
"Your sister had quite the concoction of drugs in her system and is being treated for serotonin syndrome. To put it bluntly, if your sister hadn't been admitted when she was, you'd be planning her funeral."
The resulting expression on Dylan's face read as if he'd started scheduling one regardless. He crashed into Steve, who helped him to stand erect.
"I need to see her."
"And who are you?"
"He's her husband." Brandon's tired eyes met the startled eyes of Kelly in a telepathic plea for her to avoid speaking to the contrary.
"Yeah," she hid her perplexity, "her husband."
"Estranged husband, Dylan McKay-Walsh," Steve elaborated to combat any disbelief.
The doctor escorted Dylan towards Brenda's shared room, Steve creeping behind unnoticed. He peeked through the crack in the door, once again eavesdropping on a confidential conversation.
"Bren?" Dylan hovered above her bed, caressing her hair.
"Hey you," the brunette replied hoarsely.
"You scared the shit out of me." Dylan fell onto her bed, carefully bundling her against his chest. "If you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask." He offered a wobbly smile.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Just be okay." His lips fell on her hair.
"Dylan?"
"Yeah, baby?"
"I'm in love," she spoke in slow, shaky breaths, "with you, too."
His jaw quivered. "What about Stewie?"
"What about Kelly?"
"There is no Kelly."
"And there isn't," she rasped, "Stuart, either."
"Guess we never did get over each other," he whispered, sliding in beside her. "Erica will be pleased."
Their mouths tangled together and Steve walked away, leaving the two to intensify their reunion in privacy.
Returning to the others, he found Brandon and Kelly in an equally compromising position.
In the end, the canary was hauled off to a cage for the indefinite future, the cat had re-caught the big fish and Steve Sanders desperately needed to locate a place with a keg - whereupon he poured so much alcohol into his system that he would, in the far more decent hours of the morning, wake up beside a stunned and fully clothed Clare Arnold who would look rather beautiful, despite her aiming a medium-sized bottle of laundry detergent at his swaying, shirtless figure.
Examining the bump on his chin from where the bottle had bounced off, he decided that after the prior evening's hysterical antics of a certain failed actress, Clare and her protective chancellor father were undoubtedly a bargain.