"The notion always was that we were gonna bring them, these two, back together." - Chuck Rosin, commentary on season 3, episode 30.

xx

Exiting the theatre to find him exploring a nearby rack of books where he texted her he'd be sketched an almost surreal color. She never expected to see him in the city again, not after the horrible way they had ended all those years ago, yet he still fit seamlessly into the atmosphere - a city which mocked the alleged melting pot of the United States, one that withstood blitzes and extreme poverty, welcomed both change and tradition, sat in a winding grid through historical paths and futuristic ideas. In London, excitement - particularly hers - overflowed, and she wished only that her twin would fly over to partake in the enchantment.

Perhaps an invitation to the gang should be issued, she debated; the idea seemed equally preposterous and attractive.

She snuck up behind him, covering her hands over his eyes as she'd done in their previous relationship.

"Guess who?"

She felt Dylan's gleaming smile through her hand.

"Hmm, Paulette Goddard?"

"Did you just compare me to Paulette Goddard? I'm flattered!"

"Well, you do have extremely similar eyes." He spun around, capturing her lips for the next few minutes. "I missed you. How'd it go?"

"Went well, I think. They told me they were nearly done with auditions and should be notifying about callbacks early next week."

"You'll get it. No doubt in my mind." He pushed her hair to the side, kissing down her neck. "Stopped by our favorite chippy while you were in there and got us a little something." He shyly held up the paper bag in his hand, leading her through the streets towards Carter Lane Gardens.

"So, baby tell me, exactly how much did you hear of my conversation with Wachinski while you were supposedly passed out?" Seating himself on a wide, raised block of plaster, he tugged her down onto his lap and opened the bag containing two paper containers.

"How much did you hear of my conversation with Val while you were supposedly surfing and Kel when you were seemingly inside with the others?"

"Touché." He popped a chip into her mouth, his fingers lingering on her lips as the rich potato flavor enveloped her tongue. "We even?"

"Yeah right," she laughed against his finger, "I have to eavesdrop on at least half of a second conversation before we're even."

"Or I could tell you all about my enlightening discussion with Val up to Monterey." Tearing off a piece of fried fish, he slowly fed it to her. One eyebrow lifted cryptically.

"Do I want to know this?" She savored the meal, relishing in the feeling of his touch. "She's supposed to be one of my best friends, not yours. Do I need to send her to the Tower for disloyalty?"

"Well, she spent most of the ride yelling at me and then the other one-third interrogating me about Javier. Does that count as disloyalty, Queen Brendalynn?"

Despite the delicious food filling her belly, a wolfish, insatiable hunger raced through her as she watched his lips close around his own meal.

"She didn't." Her lips lifted somewhere between a smile and a laugh.

"Oh, I assure you she very much did." He wrinkled his nose, chewing thoughtfully. "And the worst part about it? Was how fucking right she was."

"Val was right? About what?"

"That I'm an idiot," he said simply.

"She called you an idiot?"

"Well, her exact words were more 'you fucking moron! How the fucking hell could you hurt my best friend the way you did, obviously still fucking love her and not fucking tell her why the fuck you went back to fucking Kelly?'"

His Valerie impression sounded slightly more spot-on than his Donna impression, she decided.

"I tried to tell her I didn't fucking understand it myself, which wasn't really a lie because I was still working out my reasoning and it was ultimately just complete shit, but she called me about seven different names in various languages I didn't even know she knew, so I gave up."

"She dated a polyglot her first year in Philly."

"That explains it." His arm tangled around her waist, pulling her flush against him.

"She said I didn't make it easy to root for Team Dylan, whatever that means. She said if I wanted you back, really wanted you because it was you and not for any other lameass reason - Val's exact words, Bren, swear - I had to subtly fight for you, that you couldn't know I was doing it or it would drive you further away. She said I better make damn sure I knew exactly what I wanted and who I wanted it from, or she'd personally chop off my gemstones and feed them to a woodchipper the next time I hurt you. It was both fucking annoying and kind of sweet over how protective she was of you."

"I can't decide if I should thank her or throttle her."

"Maybe both." He lightly chuckled, chest heaving against her. "Bren, I never thought that running back to B.H. would make you feel like you didn't mean anything." His jawline bobbed as he swallowed, both on a chip and on his melancholy. He curled her hair around his fingers. "You did, you do, you always will mean every fucking thing. Kelly was just a passing fancy I went way too far with and clung onto for too damn long, especially when the one with the full control of my heart," he exhaled and she intertwined their fingers, "didn't want me."

His hand leisurely slid from her neck to her back.

"My biggest regret is cheating on you with Kelly, choosing her because I was hurt that you skipped out on Jack's party to appease Jim, but leaving you behind in this," he gestured towards the surrounding colorful architecture, shiny black hackney carriages queued along the street, passing children speaking to parents in posh tones and the ever-growing brood of slate grey pigeons snatching at discarded crumbs, "that comes pretty damn close."

"I just wish you'd asked me." She sipped her bottle of strawberry Ribena, kicking her legs out beside her.

"Asked you?" Trailing his hand over to her thigh and massaging it gently, he glanced at her in wonderment.

"Asked me if I'd cheated on you with Shane." Her hand flew up to his quickly inflamed cheek. "You had no problem asking if I'd slept with Euston," she bit her lip, "in front of him."

"You didn't have history with Vaughn." He spoke quietly. "You'd known Wachinski for four years by that point. He'd been your best friend before I found you again. We had much more history, gobs of it, enough to write a Broadway musical, but he'd been there when I wasn't. Unlike me, he'd never hurt you. You told him everything." He looked down at his folded hands. "Everything," he emphasized.

"Dylan." Her flummoxed gaze fell on his hands, her own reaching out to outline them with her thumb. His fingers shifted to enclose hers, their arms laying flat together. "You knew he was like a brother to me - is like a brother to me. I've never thought of him in that way. Sure, I fancied some of the guys at RADA, but Shane wasn't one of them."

"I know. Deep down, I knew that then. But you Walshes aren't exactly known for differentiating between sibling-like friends and people you want to fuck." He gave a small smile which fell short of the old pain in his eyes that clenched at her heart.

"I'm not Brandon," she huffed, attempting to remove her hand. Refusing to allow the release, he tightened his hold.

"You're a lot more like Bran than you think." Extracting one of his hands, he used it to shift a strand of windblown hair behind her ear. "And Wachinski," his eyes closed, a lone tear rolling down his cheek, "Wachinski was everything I wasn't."

"That isn't true," her voice turned firm, "I love Shane, but what does he have that you don't?"

"At the time? Success. Budding fame. Unmarried. Close to his family. An accent. Could hold his liquor. Hadn't touched a joint since - what do they call it? Secondary?" She nodded, fully focused on his confession. The absence of an entire dictionary from her mind resulted in her temporary inability to remember words in any language. "And those eyes, those goddamn eyes." His hand roughly wandered through his hair. "I was still a struggling writer; yeah, I had money again, but I was trying so hard to make my own instead of put myself in the position to lose the fund all over again. I was familyless, only had Erica and she was all the way in Hawaii. Sometimes spoke to Iris. One marriage already under my belt, however fleeting it was. And you, like Wachinski, were on the verge of stardom. Was I jealous? Damn straight. Not of your success - I wanted you to have that success, you deserved that success - but of his, of your compatibility. And angry - angry I couldn't get my meeting with the publisher rebooked so that I could've gone to Prague with you." He chugged his drink - Lucozade, much healthier than his previous beverage of choice. "Val's a thousand percent right. I was an idiot and it cost me the only home I've ever wanted."

Her throat closed. Her stomach tumbled with such rapid speed that it resembled a fall off her cherished horse during her childhood. Fury bubbled within, upset at her ignorance of the full extent of his insecurities and for not doing more to taper them.

It wasn't her responsibility to repair the years of damage his parents inflicted, to free him of the abandonment issues she knew plagued his every waking thought, but it was her job to stay faithful to the boy she loved. And as a young teenage girl with hormones raging to the point of required surgery, that was one duty she - and he - failed.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Befuddled, his head whipped to face her.

"Why are you sorry?"

"Dylan, you cheated on me, but I also cheated on you." Her free hand snaked around his back, lowering to rest along the upper lining of his jeans. "I gave you reason to doubt me. You kissed Sarah, I kissed Tim. And then Paris -" His fingers weaved under her woolen scarf, resting on the palpable lump in her throat. His thumb stroked along the skin. "Paris happened and I was so hurt by you and Kelly that it took me a long time, much longer than it should've, to realize I hurt you, too. Dylan, you didn't wait for me to get back from Paris," his face turned down, rife with guilt. She tilted his chin upward, "and I didn't wait to get back to you from Paris. That day you called and spoke to Don, I was out being a tour guide. When you called Prague and I wasn't there, it's no wonder it brought you back to that summer."

"Fucking cheesehead frat boy," he murmured, lips lifting into a shadow of a smile.

"Oh look, now you've figured out how to read my mind." She grinned and leaned in for a light peck on his lips. His palms immediately cupped the sides of her jawbone, his tongue curving the corner of her lip.

"When it comes to that summer, Bren, we both made mistakes, but I'm not gonna let you pretend yours was half as bad as mine."

"It was still pretty bad," she murmured, clasping the collar of his coat.

"Yeah, but Cheesehead wasn't my best friend and I didn't have to watch you with him," he sorrowfully reminded her. "I bet I know exactly what you're thinking," he changed the subject in a whisper.

"Okay, shoot. What am I thinking?"

"That you want me." He caressed the back of her neck with a smirk.

"Dylan, pretty sure I have you."

"Except you want to take me here and now on this bench, in front of all these people and pigeons." His brows wiggled, an accompaniment to his smirk.

"Tosser!" She swatted at him, doubling over in her laughter.

"Ah, I get it. You don't want to scar the children," he winked. "Then c'mon, let's go. If we're gonna skate, I need to practice. Can't fall on my ass in front of all your posh British friends."

"Posh?" She laughed. "My poshest friend here is Katie and that's only because her family is in the aristocracy. The others are far from posh. In fact, you might be posher than half of them and might have a hard time understanding Evie. She's from Essex."

"Evie from Essex? Cute."

"Don't tell her that. She'll slaughter you."

"Duly noted. Thanks for the warning," he chuckled, pulling her against his waist.

"It's weird; I could've sworn we practiced this already. Weren't you getting good?" She trailed her fingers through his hair.

"We did," his hands met hers, the light sparkle of bittersweet reminiscence canoeing through his eyes, "but I confess I'm a bit rusty." He rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles. "Scratch that. A lot rusty." He crooked his head. "Rusty as the Tin Man, if we're being honest."

"Have you -" her throat caught, "have you not skated in a while?"

"Try nine years." His reply came out equally soft and hard, stunning her.

"Nine years?"

"I only ever braved the ice with you," he shrugged.

His collected statement served to quicken the pace of her heart. He'd asked her all those years ago to teach him to ice-skate, wanting to match her step in every aspect of their life. When he reunited with Kelly, she imagined them on the ice - laughing, playing, spinning figure eights.

She'd learnt from Brandon that Kelly needed his own help to stay on the ice, but vicious daydreams didn't understand reason.

"You've never skated with anyone else?" she whispered, clutching at the neck of his shirt.

"Why would I when I could have a bonafide Minnesotan keeping me erect?" His eyebrow lifted dangerously.

"Oh, well, it's a rite of passage for all Minnesotans, dontcha know?" She turned on an overly exaggerated accent to accompany her hyperbole. "You can't even enroll in school until you've learnt how to control a pair of skates on the frozen lake."

"Damn. All this time, I could've been living in Minnesota, never learned to ice-skate and wouldn't of been allowed in school. Now, that's the life," he easily played along.

"If you'd been home twenty four-seven, you would've never met me." She pouted, the expression hidden instantly by his wandering thumb.

"No, one day I'd look out the window and see this beautiful, tiny brunette with these entrancing eyes racing her brother on the ice, competing to see which one could outrace the other."

"For the record, it's me. I'm the better skater. I don't care what Bran says. Just because I never had interest in going pro or even holding a hockey stick and didn't touch the skates in Beverly Hills, he thinks he's better."

"Okay, then I'd see her win, walk out the door and introduce myself." His hands glided over her back. "There's no state, no country, no universe, no lifetime where I wouldn't of found you and made you mine." His lips hovered over hers. "And in every lifetime but this one, you would've always been mine."

She wondered what he would think of her psyche if she were to reveal their alternate, similarly devastating story in the form of a girl named Wendy and a boy called Peter.

She decided to instead continue maintaining the secret of the diary, since he would likely brush it off as a dream set in Neverland.

"I'm yours now." She breathed against his teasing mouth, whispering almost inaudibly. "A smidgen of me has always been yours."

"Now your whole circumference is mine again," his lips met her ear, "as mine is yours."

She melted. Her mind turned to mush. Her body longed to invent teleportation so that she could beam them back to her bedroom. Her spirit soared into his.

"Do you want to keep going with this maths lesson or do you want to skate?" she breathlessly managed.

"I want to skate with the best teacher in London. If we practice enough, maybe I can surpass Bran, too." He stood, wiping his hands against his jeans with a twinkle in his eye. "Come on." He helped her to stand, hoisting her over his shoulder.

"Dylan!" She laughed, lightly hitting against his back. "Dylan, I don't need help to walk."

He set her on a sturdy bench, looking into her eyes. "Stand," he commanded.

She carefully stood on the bench. He turned around with his back to her and leant forward.

"You are gonna murder your back," she warned.

"I think I've played horsey enough times to be just fine, babe, but thanks for your concern."

"Yeah, but when was the last time you had a grown woman straddling your back?"

On second thought, she preferred to remain ignorant of the answer.

"Brenda." His hands reached out blindly, pleadingly.

"Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you." She climbed onto his back, intertwining her arms around his waist.

He straightened without a grunt or other uttered, telltale sign of age, holding her securely.

"You've really gotta stop doubting my skill, Bren."

"So you're right this time, but I doubt you could carry a pregnant woman on your back."

"Tell you what. If I do manage to plant our beautiful offspring within you - and I'm perfectly content in trying as many times as necessary - I'll test out that theory, too." He turned his head, meeting hers for a languid kiss as he took a chunk of her rear into his hand. "In the meantime, I offer you a limitless supply of piggyback rides, whenever you like. I may not be as buff as Steve, but I'm still pretty strong and you are much lighter than you realize."

"Can I tell him you admitted he's buff?"

"Don't you dare. I'll surrender to the first stage of recovery and deny, deny, deny." He kissed her again, walking them in the direction of the central area of the city, towards Tower Hamlets and its touristy crowd.

"Dylan?"

"If my queen is gonna skate, she should do so near the Crown Jewels," he winked, answering her unasked question. "I did say I could think of plenty of royal treatments for you. This is just one of them. Loads more to come." Keeping one hand loosely on her arm, he dug around for his wallet and pulled out two tickets.

"Did you pre-book?"

"Yep, while you were in your audition. Thankfully, they had an open session." His grin matched the glow that leapfrogged across the historic structure.

"And if I'd said no to skating?"

"You wouldn't of." His confidence overflowed, pouring onto her hand with the touch of his lips.

It was remarkably unfair how well he could read her. She would hate it, if she didn't once more love him to the surreal level she did.

Realizing he'd fail at skating properly if she remained against his back, he reluctantly permitted her feet to return to the ground. Reaching into his bag, he withdrew her personal skates, purchased a rental for himself and led her onto the ice.

Two minutes later, he lay flat on his back, glaring at her overtly amused reaction.

"How is it that you're one of the star surfers in Beverly Hills, but you can't keep your footing on the ice?"

"They aren't even the same concept, Bren." He grunted as she helped him to stand.

"They're both on water, Dyl."

"One is water in its pure liquid form and the other is solid ice. It's nowhere close to the same thing."

"You're a decent skier, though."

"That's on soft, compact snow." He grabbed her hips, his feet sliding out behind him. Maintaining a perfect balance, she gripped his forearms to keep him upright.

"I appreciate that you're trying and want us to participate in what the lads do, but -"

"No butts. I'm going to master this damn thing if it takes all year."

"And you call me stubborn."

"Well, you are." A smile came over his face, comedically transforming into a grimace whilst he continued to slip. "How the hell do you Walsh people stay on here so damn well? It's like trying to stand in a slick tub!" Pausing to think over his statement, he offered a sly glance.

"You know, your - or rather, our," he emphasized, "old flat didn't have a bathtub -"

"Down, boy," she laughed, kissing his kittenish expression. "One thing at a time, unless you're ready to give up?"

"Hell no, I'm not giving up. That's letting this damn ice win and I refuse to let solid water defeat me."

Five minutes later, she watched him hugging onto the barre as if he were embracing an old friend, his feet tightly together, a string of Spanglish curse words escaping in a frightened whisper.

Informing him of their planned departure, she giggled with a shake of her head.

"We still have time left in our session, baby," he whined, turning carefully to look at her.

"Then you need to stop trying to skate on your own and let me lead you." Bearing a small smile, she crossed her arms and effortlessly glided, spinning a few times for effect.

He zeroed in solely on her, teasingly calling her a showoff with a smile flitting across his lips.

She held out her palm. Withdrawing from the barre painstakingly slowly, his hand fell onto hers.

"Do you trust me?"

"You're the only one I trust." Their gazes linked, both adults recalling an evening in another lifetime when he'd said the same.

"Then if you want to learn, I have to lead." She intertwined their fingers, lifting his arm to coax him towards her. "It isn't a waltz, Dyl. You don't have to take charge."

"You sure? Could've sworn I just saw you dancing like you were the female Hans Brinker. Heidi Brinker? It suits you." He gingerly headed in her direction. "You love when I take charge, Sonja Henie."

"I'm not half as good as Sonja Henie," she protested, reducing her pace to match his. "There you go. That's it. Baby steps."

"I know way too fucking much about baby steps." His murmur fell into the ice below, billowing underneath until it spouted out the other side and cascaded against the lit structure.

"We both do." Her response softened to the extent of his.

"I can't do baby steps with you anymore. I want to take a giant leap with you over an abyss and land safely on the other side." His somber tone rapidly became zealous. "Promise me, Bren. Promise me we'll leave the baby steps to actual babies from now on. No more damn baby steps creeping their way into our story until we see our baby take her first steps."

"I promise." Pride spilled over as she looked at his feet, a tutor helping a student to the next stage of a new language. "You're skating, Dylan."

Shocked, he glanced at his feet, then back up at her.

"Fuck yeah! Told you the ice wouldn't win." He pumped a fist into the air and promptly fell on his rear.

"Well, it's a start." Her hat bounced with her giggle.

"If you're gonna keep laughing at me falling on my ass, I'm going to pay you back for it." Pushing himself to his knees, he latched himself around her waist with his head resting against her midsection.

"Dylan, no. Don't even think about it!" she warned, attempting to skate away from his clutch.

Wearing a devilish grin, he continued to hold on until she lost her balance and tumbled under his heaving figure. Gazing into her eyes, he leant down and placed upon her lips a slow, soft kiss. Though she lay flat on the ice, the chills that spread to her veins were not initiated by the rough winter blanket which enveloped them.

"You know," he breathed, rubbing his nose along hers, "if we were in a movie, this would be our reunion kiss."

"Then it's a good thing we're better than the movies." She placed her gloved hand against his face.

"Damn right, we are." His lips moved to her forehead.

"New Year's."

He groaned, eyeing her hop to a standing position with severe disappointment.

"New Year's?"

"We tell them on New Year's."

He stood and scooped her into his arms, increasing her difficulty in skating their conjoined form back to the entrance.

"You want to tell them on New Year's? We still have a whole month 'til then, Bren. Why do I have to wait so long?" he adorably tucked his teeth over his lip.

"Maybe it's cheesy, but it just makes sense to start the new year fresh. Steve will be here for Christmas, Japan the rest of the week and he plans to fly back to LA around that time. He and Maddie can pop through here again for a few days, instead. Except for last year, Val always does New Year's in the city. I'm guessing your plan includes the kids; Hannah will be out of school. If you want them all to come here, it's the perfect time."

"I know it is, but it sucks waiting." His lips downturned into much the same pout that he'd used on her outside the Wharf's two-story carousel.

"You look utterly adorable." She pecked his cheek and bent on the dark carpet which sat on the other side of the rink. "After all the surprises the gang threw my way, including seeing you," pointing an upturned brow in his direction, she raised a knuckle to stroke his jawline, "they need some in return."

He sighed, unlacing his rented skates whilst watching her undo her own.

"Fine Sally, but only because you didn't try to hold off until Valentine's, or something."

"Now, Harry, that would be far too long."

"It's already too long," he grumbled, grazing her shoulder with his hand. "I can't believe we have to be apart during our first Christmas back together. Can you cancel on Steve-o and come to Copenhagen with me?"

"Dylan."

"I know, I know. I'm kidding. Kind of." A slight smile crossed his face. "Well, it was worth a shot." His lips brushed her chin. "They leave day after Boxing Day, right? What's your schedule like then?"

"I'm not sure yet, but it won't be too bad. All the shows I've been auditioning for start rehearsal beginning of January and I just have that performance for the childrens' hospital day of."

"Fly out and meet me after Sanders leaves?"

She stepped into her boots, bracing herself in his steady hold.

"Hang out with you and Erica in Copenhagen?"

"Sure, why not? She'd love to see you, you'd love to see her, I get to spend the rest of the holiday with my two incredibly special girls and I remember how much you loved it there."

"It's tempting. I'll think it over. You aren't spending Christmas with Sammy?"

"Bran and Kel are taking him to her sister's in Colorado. I get him next year." He counted out a few notes and handed them to a vendor, coming away with two dark hot chocolates which he held up in front of her. "Or, we get him next year."

She took one of the heated cups and, eyebrows scrunching in confusion, blew through its tiny opening.

"Silver has a place in Colorado? That's strange."

"Not Silver. Joy."

"Who the hell is Joy?"

He chuckled, sipping at his drink with his arm curving around her shoulders.

"That's right. I forgot you don't know. Kelly found out a while ago that Bill had another daughter."

"Did everyone get random siblings after I left?" She shook her head. "Steve and his brothers. Donna and her sister."

"Well, you and Brando did forget to tell us about Bridget." He crooked his head with a purse of his lips.

"Bridget's a bitch," she shrugged.

He laughed and pulled her into his shoulder.

"Turns out I do have another brother you don't know about and I didn't, either. Jack had a second son."

"He did?"

He cupped her open jaw with his palm, running his finger along her jawline.

"Yeah, but I barely know the guy. Met him once, saw him at our dad's funeral and then haven't seen him since."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you lost him again. Brandon told me about it and I tried to call, but -" her eyes dropped to examine the design on her boot, "Kelly picked up and I just -"

He bit his lower lip and gently caressed her cheekbone until her eyes again met his.

"I understand. The last time I tried to call you, someone else picked up - probably Honey Maid. He said it wasn't a good time, that you were out late. I didn't tell him who I was."

"I guess we've both done a pretty shitty job in the best friend department, huh?" she laughed bitterly.

"Could be because we were always meant to be more." He kissed the top of her head, cuddling her against him.

She finished her hot chocolate, surveying the dark residue laying at the bottom.

"I don't know much about Gina, just that she and Donna don't get along. Steve's brothers are great - well, mostly great. Austin's alright. Better than he was."

He turned his startled gaze in her direction.

"You've met them?"

"I showed Ryan around when he took that break from uni. He bunked at mine for a few days before he headed up to Glasgow."

"I never knew that."

Her hand instinctually moved to his saddened chin, lifting it towards her. He swallowed and walked his fingers along her hand.

"I just can't fathom how we got to this place where you've been closer with Sanders than with me. Hell, you've even talked to Silver more. And Wachinski has nine years of memories with you I'm never gonna be able to create. How could I let us get here?"

"We can't change anything. The past is permanently part of our story. We can't erase it, but it's also called the past for a reason, Dyl. We have a whole future in front of us now. As long as you don't chase after Kelly or James Bondify yourself with women who aren't me, I don't kiss other guys, you don't bail when we fight, I don't demand you leave, we keep prioritizing each other, actually talk it out when things are bothering us the way we used to before my dad got involved and you stormed off after Jackie's wedding, then we can. We can make it work. You're persistent, cocky and frustrating beyond belief. I'm obstinate, hard-headed and maybe a little too flirty. But you're my persistent, cocky, frustrating beyond belief starfish chilling in the oceanic cavern and there's no way I'm letting you go again."

He grabbed at her hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing slowly along her arm.

"I swear to abide by everything you just said, to do everything I can to show you you come first, to always choose my obstinate, hard-headed, much too flirty little lady who won't have to let me go because I won't give her a reason to." He sealed their vow with a firm kiss. "Little. Like, really little. Barely taller than a pixie."

"Okay, I get it!" she huffed. "We can't all be massive giants."

"I wouldn't want you to be a massive giant. You'd leave me for some seven foot NBA star and I'd have to date a supermodel just to make you jealous."

"Oh Dyl, trust me, if I was a giant dating a seven foot basketball star, you wouldn't have a prayer of making me jealous."

He glared and kissed her nose.

"Luckily for me you're a shortie, then - my shortie."

Asking him to repeat the statement whilst she eyed the foot traffic of London, he questioned which part. She smugly smiled.

"The luck part."

"I'm the luckiest homosapien in the history of time to have you to love, Bren."

"Even if I tell you that, for now anyway, I would like to stay here?"

"I'll move in next weekend."

"What about your home?"

"It's just a building, Brenda. Without you, it's never been a home."

He swung her up into his arms, voicing plans to keep his place in Baja - which they would visit at least once a year, he said, to her audible enthusiasm. The house in Beverly Hills would be sold to one of the men on the cleanup initiative currently house hunting with his partner. In addition to his continued writing, Dylan would begin a concept new to her that he called remote work, which he said had already been approved by the team. The oceans of California were important to upkeep, he noted, but so were the waters of Europe.

She giggled at his excitement, allowing him to carry her through the city. His lips fiercely latched onto various parts of her body every other block, until they wandered by the British Library. Noticing the taped flyer indicating a newly opened exhibit on George Gordon Byron, he rushed them inside and, as the doors closed behind, announced quite loudly how much he loved London - until a librarian gestured for him to quiet down and a tickled Brenda led him into the room celebrating, to her dismay and his delight, romantic poetry.

-x

Damn, I thought one hundred reviews was cause for celebration enough. A massive thank you to all of you who keep growing that number, as well as the continued readership and general interest.

This fic is not going to end at all how I initially planned it, so I still don't have a clue how much longer the saga will go on. I just wrote one chapter which is ages away; now I must figure out how to get to it. I'll also need to include a B/K wedding at some point. If BK fans have ideas for that, please feel free to share them with me (you will, of course, get credit. I just want to do them justice, unlike the series.)

Crystal - That's right; I forgot Dylan was back to the drugs in nine. This time around, I only re-watched the scenes pertaining to or alluding - unintentionally or otherwise - to Bren (although the bits I saw of Dylan greatly pissed me off that his so-called friends actually handed him a red solo cup and watched him drink alcohol without a single word. My gosh, where was Brandon?! Oh yeah, DC.) Might re-watch nine in full at some point because of Steve's arc, but, meh. The writing for Dylan was all over the place in nine, though, and I think it's quite telling that when Kelly asks for clarification about his supposed dumping of Bren two years ago, he responds with "something like that." Lol; not at all obvious he's lying through his teeth. And his "ask her" to Donna is certainly bitter, which is also telling.

brendamckay61 - Thank you! I dropped a hint much earlier on that Brenda had only one poet in her collection and that poet is, of course, none other than Dylan.

Guest - Thanks a mill! I likely will include more love scenes, just as long as you're good with them being mild. I've never been too comfortable with writing smut, except for an RP stint for a soap opera once upon a time.