"They both had this careless air of cool, you just kinda wanted to be their friends. And of course my favorite storylines were anytime those two got back together." - Shenae Grimes (Annie, 90210)
xx
The crowd stood in full swing as they stepped out, into the loud, impatient hollers demanding the band begin playing prematurely.
He stayed directly behind her, arms locked on her waist with her hands covering his. Legs pressed together, he walked her through the low-lit pub until she halted near the familiar table.
"Bren!" The Wachinski spouses spoke in sync. "Finally taking a break from your housework to join us?" They knew her well - perhaps a little too well, she thought.
She noticed Katie's survey of Dylan, whose head slightly popped out over her shoulder.
"Oh, who's the lush lad standing behind you?"
"Shane, you remember Dylan McKay, don't you?"
Shane's emerald eyes lit in immediate, gobsmacked recognition.
"Wachinski." Dylan forced a smile. "How's it going?"
"Not too bad, McKay. When'd you get back in the city?"
"Today." He aimed a boyish grin at Brenda.
"Not the Dylan McKay?" Katie gestured with inquisitive brown eyes shaded somewhere between the lighter hue of Donna's and the darker color of Dylan's.
"Only one I know of." He smiled, pulling Brenda closer against the fabric draped over his mostly slim abdomen.
"He's the reason Bren requested that the tour avoid LA." Shane eyed their close attachment, his own arm slung around Katie. "Suppose she changed her mind."
"More like we have extremely annoying friends who changed it for me," Brenda laughed.
"And we owe them forever for it." Dylan seated himself across from the Wachinskis, grabbing Brenda's waist to fall into his lap.
"So this is more than a friendly visit." Katie's eyes softened knowingly.
"Oh yeah, Katie Wachinski, I'd like to officially introduce you to my boyfriend, Dylan McKay." Brenda leant her head against his neck.
He tightened his arms around her chest, dropping his chin into her shoulder.
"Boyfriend?" Shane's eyebrows ziplined upward. "New-old development during your trip, Bren?"
"Not exactly." She looked shyly at Dylan.
"Recent development, actually." The stage lights kayaked into his eyes. "Like, back room of Howard Longley's pub recent."
"Not like that!" she hurriedly added before either Wachinski's brain landed in the gutter.
"Not yet, anyway," Dylan simpered.
"This is so exciting, Bren!" Katie clapped her hands. "No more dates with snoring symphony bloke."
"Snoring symphony bloke?" Dylan repeated, turning his head curiously to Brenda, "Who's snoring symphony bloke?"
"No one of any importance," she assured him, placing her hand on his cheek.
He leaned into her touch, looking over at Katie.
"Ah, Wachinski," he paused, tapping his fingers on Brenda's covered thigh, "Two?"
"She was Northam." Shane peered over his drink.
"Northam it is." Dylan nodded. "Northam, do tell about this snoring symphony guy."
"Nothing to tell, really. One date Bren declared a total nightmare who must have been cream knackered. He fell asleep at the symphony."
"In the middle of a movement!" Brenda added, puncturing the offense with the shake of a glass. "He nearly drowned out the first chair violinist's solo."
"Now that's something you'll never have to worry about." His eyebrows leapt up and down, undoubtedly remembering their own visits to the symphony, both as teenagers and in the third attempt at their relationship.
She determined there wouldn't be a fifth.
"Dylan loves orchestral music," she said.
"More accurately, I love the way you love orchestral music." He snuggled her closer, his hoodie shielding her from the draft carried in by the opening door.
"How long you here for, McKay?"
"However long Brenda wants me," Dylan replied, peeking at the man he'd selected as his unofficial nemesis when he last lived in London - confusing the hell out of Brenda, who never understood the animosity between the two.
"That's Dylan speak for a few days."
He somehow managed to pull her even closer, the thought of another separation evidently as painful for him as for her. However temporarily it would be, they'd already lasted through more partings than most couples saw in a lifetime.
"But he'll be back next weekend."
His surprised glance lingered on her and then turned to Katie, delighted. "Yeah, I'll be back next weekend," he confidently confirmed.
"Oh, Bren, that's ace! You can bring him to our anniversary party. I'd lined you up a date in case you needed a plus one, but I'll just pass him on to Vee. Dylan, do you skate?"
"Roller skate? It's been a while, but can't be too hard to pick back up."
"Ice-skate."
"Uh, no, not really, but I'm sure Bren can help keep me erect."
Brenda swatted his arm. He covered her hand with his.
"What date?" she asked with blatant interest.
His smile evaporated.
"I'm kidding, baby." She kissed his cheek.
"You better be," his tone lowered, "for mystery guy's sake." His smolder disappeared into a quick, velveteen swipe of her lips.
"Mm, half-kidding. Vee isn't quite as secure in her singlehood as I am."
"Was," he corrected, rubbing his palm along her hip.
"Was." She smiled.
"See, babes? Told you. Seconds away from shagging."
Scowling, she opened one eye at Benji. He stood hovering over their table, flicking a conspiratorial expression to Levi with a shake of his dreadlocks before his smirk turned on her.
She swore her London friends were just as nosy as her Beverly Hills friends, stereotypes be damned.
"Don't you have a gig to perform or something?"
Dylan sniggered into the lining of her purple jumper.
"No longer a slice of the less superior cheese?" Levi's elbows hit the table, tucking his chin between his fists in rapturous attention of their seating arrangement.
"Nah, as of twenty minutes ago, in that room over there," Dylan pointed beyond his shoulder, "I'm the whole fucking pizza, man." He broke out into a double dimpled grin. "Or maybe an extra large cheesecake."
"So what does that make Bren?"
"Cheesed off if you go any further in this conversation, Akers."
Shane laughed through a low whistle.
"Fuck, Levi, you got Akered."
"Better leg it," Katie giggled.
Levi turned a petrified glance to his boyfriend and sprinted over to the stage before the opportunity arose to feel the wrath of an irked Brenda Walsh.
"Give the guy a break, babe." Dylan chuckled against her hair. "You haven't gone all demure on me, have you?"
"Nope, not at all. Just isn't their business."
"Really? I have half a mind to climb up on the roof and belt to the entire city and all outlying areas that you were the first," his lips opened within her hair, "that you'll be the last," he gave a smug smile, "that I'll be your flame."
"So you're basically gonna lose your footing and possibly trip to your death right after we got back together because of a sudden need to screech Cheap Trick at the top of your lungs like you're Bert the chimney sweep?"
"What can I say, Bren. I'm in too far. I'm in way too deep over you," he whispered with a dimpled smile, "and I don't care who knows it."
"Where did you find this bloke?" Katie swooned, hiding her heated cheeks behind her glass. "Does he have a twin?"
"He doesn't, but I do," Brenda hurriedly reminded her before Dylan's ego could increase further.
"That's right. You do." She placed her fist along the side of her chin in deep thought.
"Oh no." Dylan chuckled, shaking his head. "Don't even think about it. Northam, the last thing you wanna do is get in a feud with her brother's fiancée, believe me."
"And you're married," Shane remarked in a liter of irritability and a tablespoon of amusement.
"Keeps things interesting, love." Closing one eye, Katie then opened it in a prolonged wink.
The notes of the band began playing over the loudspeakers, welcoming the streaming crowd to the center of the room. Dylan's gaze roamed over the dancers, many of whom looked to be fresh off a day of courses and ready for a long evening of letting loose.
"What do you say we show 'em how it's done, babe?"
"I don't know, McKay. Your moves were pretty slowed down in Tonga. Sure you can still keep up with me or have you lost your skill in your old age?"
He gasped, hand flying to his chest.
"Get your ass out on that dance floor."
She laughed, jumped off of his lap and held out her hand.
He bit his lip, studying her entire frame before clasping his hand in hers.
She nearly skipped over to the area reserved for dancing, his feet quickly moving to match her pace.
Immediately picking up the rhythm, her arms began to roll to the music. Her feet slid back and forth.
He spun her towards him so rapidly, her vision blurred.
"Who are you calling old?" He beat out a rhythm against her chest.
"Well, my love, you could run for president by the time we marry."
"Funny how you think it'll take us that long, mon petit amour."
"You think it won't?"
"First to get engaged, last to get married," he noted with a tilt of his head.
Running through the mental list of their friends' marriages and divorces, short-lived happiness in the case of Dylan and Steve or yet another engagement of Brandon and Kelly, her jaw dropped in comprehension.
"How the hell did that happen?"
"Beats me, but I'm sure damn lucky it did." He twirled her rapidly under his arms, their hands connecting every few minutes whilst their feet perfectly aligned with the tune.
She grabbed his hips and shimmied up his swaying figure. He effortlessly picked her up, swinging her from side to side in a classic dance move that he'd undoubtedly learnt from a film.
"Now what was that you said about not being able to keep up with you? If anyone can match your pace, it's me, babe. Always has been. And you're the only one who can match mine."
He dipped her low to the ground, holding her securely as he bent his head over hers and seared their lips together in a battle of tongues hankering for control.
She emerged from the kiss properly breathless.
"What's that for?"
"Needed something to tide me over for the rest of the night. Because once you start drinking that," he nodded to the waiter placing down her requested cask ale on their table, "I'll have to force myself to not kiss you and it's much easier to teach a pig Latin or a debutante how to milk a cow than to keep me from kissing you now that you've finally decided I'm again worthy of your luscious lips."
"I did tell you we didn't have to come."
"Bren, if we're gonna finally work - and we will," he emphasized determinedly, "we can't lock ourselves up in your place and avoid the rest of the world, no matter how damn appealing that is."
"Thank you," she murmured, sliding her hands along his waist.
"I won't make the same mistakes," he swore, twisting her hair around his hand. "If I have to become Wachinski's best friend to keep you, then I'll do it. If I have to befriend every single one of your stage partners, I will. If I have to -"
She halted him with another intense liplock.
"I don't think that will be necessary. Just don't threaten to kill anyone." She gripped his face in her palms, slowly releasing his lips.
"And if someone threatens you or tries to hurt you?" His eyes dimmed with the hauntings of his past.
"Then we'll reexamine the situation," she calmly replied, brushing her thumbs over his closing eyelids.
"God, I love you."
"Je t'aime aussi."
"Don't you ever forget it." He caressed his thumb over her lower back.
"Never."
"You swear?"
"I swear."
"What do you swear on?"
She licked her tongue over her lip in thought.
"Brandon?"
"Nah, too easy."
"Should I swear on Maddie?"
"No, that seems wrong." She could practically see the gears in his mind working to decide a solution. "I've got it! Swear on Baja."
"On Baja?"
"Yes." He earnestly nodded. "Swear that if we're separated in five years - I don't know why that would happen, but just to cover all our bases - swear that you'll meet me in Baja."
"Okay." She held up her hand, which he tugged forward to kiss. "I swear that if we are apart in five years, I will meet you in Baja."
"Yo te juro también." He set their intertwining hands on her chest as he bent forward to passionately connect their lips and remain in the position until her knees shook.
"Is that Brenda Walsh?" they heard in a whisper from the crowd, likely full of the theatre fans Howard Longley's pub often attracted. "I thought Brenda Walsh was single?" came a second, deeper, amusedly saddened voice. "Her latest interview said she was single, didn't it?" "I thought I read she was dating David Tennant," said a third. "Isn't he engaged to Billie Piper?" asked a fourth. "Don't believe everything you read," scolded a fifth.
"Well, babe, you're mighty popular." His lips withdrew from her face, an eyebrow quirked in her direction. "Who's David Tennant?"
"Oh, Dyl, you're so clueless, it's adorable."
"I am not." He jutted out his lips in protest.
"If you want to know who David Tennant is, just ask Shane. He'll lead you back in time."
"Back in time?"
"And in space."
"Okay," he said slowly, dragging out the latter portion of the word. "Oh, that reminds me. If you were single until tonight, who's this Ralf Smalls guy your brother mentioned? I was this close to challenging him to a duel."
"Ralf Little," she corrected, laughing through an image of Dylan clad in full shining armor and a feathered helmet atop a prideful horse, poking a long stick at a television actor whose only crime was being the first random person she thought of in Brandon's interrogative inquiry.
"Ralf Little," he echoed, face contorting mockingly as he spoke.
"Just a brunet telly actor with dark brown eyes and sideburns on this side of the pond. I've never met him and probably won't, though Howie says he came into the pub once on break from filming. He's the first name that came to mind when Bran demanded details and wouldn't accept Heathcliff Badger."
"So in other words, you have a type."
"I guess, though this hair is a lot curlier than I remember." She gently pulled down a curl sitting just above his hairline, releasing it to spring back up.
"Untamed, product-free. What do you think?" He bent his head downward, shaking it in her direction.
"I think you are gonna have some seriously gorgeous kids."
"With you, I hope." He gifted her a teasing smile, leading her to a quiet corner away from the mob.
"Baby," she nervously looked to the ground, "if we really are gonna go through with everything this time, there's something you should probably know straight-off."
He tilted her chin up to meet his concerned gaze.
"How bad could it be, Bren? You have some secret lover tied up in your closet?"
"No," she laughed.
"You and Brandon are actually triplets and I've been kissing Bridget all along while she has Brenda locked up in a warehouse?"
"You watch soaps now?"
"Hell no," his face twisted in repulsion, "not my cup of tea at all, but I'll confess I did used to catch a rerun or two of Another World when Rose would invite me over for dinner with her and Andrea. They had this kid Kenny who was wonderful at making miserable people happy."
"Oh, my aunt watched that show. Wasn't Kenny the dweeb in a sweater vest? Bobby always teased Lottie about her massive crush on him."
"Hey, I thought he was pretty cool."
"If you like sweater vests," she giggled. "Dinner with Rose, huh? Do you even eat when you aren't dining with Walshes, Zuckermans, Silvers or on grub from the Peach Pit?"
"I can boil pasta." His eyes twinkled.
"That's something, I guess."
"Open to cooking lessons." He gave a half-smile.
"I'll consider it. Not interested in my home burning down."
"Ouch." He playfully motioned a trigger into his heart.
Her smile faded. His worry increased.
"You aren't sick or anything, are you?" He gulped down air, the happiness on his features quickly dominated by the invasion of severe terror.
"No, no, I'm perfectly healthy."
"Thank God." Relief spread through his eyes, crossing down to his lips. "Almost had me worried we were going to inspire the next Nicholas Sparks novel." He grazed his hands along her elbows. "Just tell me, Brenda."
"It's just, Dylan, I," her lips opened slightly in a sharp breath, "I'm not even sure I can have one kid, let alone two, and you obviously want a really big family if that six kids thing of yours is anything to go off of and it's not fair to you if I -"
He cut her off with his lips, cupping her jawline.
"Do you want kids, Bren?" His eyes searched hers.
"I do and I want them with you, but -"
"Then we'll work it out," he said forcefully.
"Dylan -"
"Brenda, I've already unofficially adopted once. If spending my life with you means all of my children are adopted, then point me to the nearest agency. You change your mind and decide you don't want to be a mom, then that's fine, too. We'll get a bunch of pets. You don't want the pets, we'll be a family of two. Nothing - and I mean nothing," he enunciated, "is going to come between us again."
She burrowed herself into him, her own relief speeding through their embrace.
"Now," he wiped the stray tears attached to her cheek, "We can leave or you can drink. Which one?"
"Are you sure I won't affect your hard-earned sobriety if I drink?"
"One hundred percent sure. You'll just have to wait until tomorrow to kiss these puckers I know will soon have you addicted, if they don't already."
"Oh, I'm fairly certain I got re-addicted to them the moment our lips touched."
"Feel free to play with them whenever you're sober and other areas, too."
She caressed her tongue along the inside of his mouth, pressing her hand to the back of his head to intensify their connection.
Breaking apart, she brushed her thumb over his lower lip. He softly clamped his upper lip over her waiting thumb.
"Okay, time for a drink."
Dylan's chin touched his shoulder as he watched Brenda drink her second mug. She sang loudly along with a tipsy Katie, who sat tucked into her husband.
Brenda noticed Shane's eyes fall on Dylan from across the table.
"You wanna get out of here, McKay?"
"What'd you have in mind?"
"Our flat isn't far."
"Sure. We'll save the remaining crowd from Bren's pipes."
"Hey!" She giggled as she swayed.
"C'mon, lightweight." Dylan helped her to stand whilst Shane threw Katie over his shoulder. "Lead the way, Wachinski."
Stumbling but awake, Brenda staggered into the cord of the Wachinski's floor lamp. Dylan caught both his girlfriend and the lamp before either fell.
"And this is why she doesn't drink often," Shane chuckled, who himself indulged in half a glass of lager and stayed steady on his feet.
"Wakinsky, shh," she wagged her finger, "I'm the soberest perthon you ever - wan go swimming?"
"Without a pool?" Shane asked, depositing his wife on an armchair.
"In frigid temperatures?" Dylan added concernedly.
"There a founain close!"
"Bren, you're not going swimming in a fountain, especially not during winter in England."
"I bet Than - Thand - Theve would go if - if I athed."
"Yeah because he'd be drunker than you," he laughed, sliding his hand under her hair.
"I not drunk!"
"Nah, you've just decided to change up your grammar and drop random consonants for no reason at all."
"Is for a play."
"Okay funny girl, which play would that be in our town?"
She situated one of his fingers under her chin.
"The Glath Maynagerie."
"Yeah, you're definitely drunk." Dylan cringed at the butchered title, sitting on the sofa with her legs laying over his.
She drifted in and out of lucidity, picking up bits and pieces of the conversation around her.
"You know; you're not so bad, man," she heard Dylan say in a garbled voice.
"Thanks...man," Shane said, "you aren't half the knob head I thought you were."
"Likewise."
She softly giggled, a reaction unheard by both men rifling through the Wachinski vinyl collection.
When she again came to, Shane and Dylan's conversation had moved on to something which assured her close attention - the topic of their mysterious feud.
"I thought you had the hots for her," Dylan confessed without realizing her half-coherent state.
"You mean, did I fancy her?"
She saw Dylan give a slight nod, before carefully shifting her closer against him.
"Too right, I fancied her. We all did," Shane admitted.
She felt Dylan stiffen.
"But she was your girl, mate. I never would have tried anything."
His chest expanded against her hair.
"I assumed you did," he said in a low murmur, "in Prague."
"You thought she cheated on you, with me?" Shane inquired with bewildered inflection.
Herself startled, she fought to maintain the appearance of being too far gone on drink to hear anything.
Blessedly, both remained unaware.
"I called your hotel," Dylan explained through the lump in his throat she could feel snake all the way down to his gut, "the concierge said she'd went out with you. By the way the guy talked, it seemed like you were alone. I don't know, man; something similar happened one summer when we were kids and I guess thinking of her out in the Prague city centre with only you nigh on midnight brought it all back."
Her mouth shaped into a muted gasp, finally understanding after almost a decade why his jealousy had essentially grown, overnight, twentyfold the week she returned from her Czech tour - why he'd charged at Euston Vaughn, balked any time Carter Lewis waved in her direction, suggested to Ernesto Manzano that he read up on jousting and generally threw consistent death glares towards Shane Wachinski anytime they stood within the same vicinity.
She'd been correct the day he left London. It all came back to her Parisian fling, regardless of their extensive time together that should have convinced him of her fidelity.
Her stupid fling with an incredibly dull boy who filled her head with talk of fantasy and fate, yet found more interest in speaking with her father than her.
And she'd lost Dylan because of him - two different years, at two different ages, in two different cities within two different countries on two different continents.
Fucking cheesehead frat boy.
"I should've come straight out and asked her about it, but I convinced myself she'd tell me she was leaving me for you. You and your fucking emerald green eyes like you're that Harry Potter kid my niece loves, or something."
"Mate, green eyes were around before Rowling decided to give them to Potter, you know."
She pressed her lips together, silencing an impending laugh. Shane dealt with constant comparisons to the book version of the wizarding Harry, simply because they shared the same eye color, same hair color, a childhood in Surrey and were close in age.
"Anyone ever tell you you look like him?" Dylan grinned. "At least the way Hannah says he's supposed to look."
"All the fucking time," Shane growled, bouncing his knee. "Can we get back to the Prague thing?"
Dylan sighed, lifting a hand to rake through his hair.
"It was just asinine. I was a total asshole, a fucking imbecile. Don't know why I'm spilling all of this. I've never told anyone, not even my brothers. Maybe it's the jet lag. Maybe it's those damn eyes. No wonder you were Bren's constant shoulder in RADA."
He shook his head, but continued nonetheless, evidently desperate to release a decade of stored pain.
"I broke a year of sobriety, got plastered that night and every night following while you guys were still on tour, thinking she was hooking up with you, and my mind went to some dark places. So instead of confronting her or kicking your ass, demanding that you stay the hell away from my girl which would've absolutely pissed her off, I let it bubble, brew and generally fuck me up. Got to the point where I had trouble trusting her around all of the guys she worked with and well, as I'm sure you know because there was very little she didn't tell you and that was a sore spot too, it reached the boiling point, she kicked me out two months later, we exploded all over again and then didn't even talk to each other for nine fucking years. That's a long time to give up your best friend to the world, to let someone else have her."
His arms tightened around her curled frame as his chin tucked into her head.
"I can't imagine having to give up Katie." The sound of Shane's pain indicated that he was indeed trying to picture that kind of sacrifice.
"It's the worst feeling in the universe. You invoke everything you can to forget - do the stupidest shit, chase other girls, fuck other girls, lie to everyone around you, lie to yourself. Love other girls because you persuade yourself you and the only one you've ever really been in love with are better off apart," Dylan shakily breathed. "Except that's bullshit. We aren't. The storybooks can try to mimic ours; we control the pen. And I'll be damned if I lose her this time."
She zoned out, using his unexpected revelations to piece together what he had truly been thinking during their last week together and wondering why he couldn't tell her the way he usually did.
"I tried to fix things, a few years back," Dylan unknowingly lured her attention in a quiet manner, pressing his lips against the top of her head, "tried to call her. It was dumb. I should've realized she wouldn't return the calls, not after all those years."
"When was this?" Shane stretched out against the sofa.
"Do you know about what happened to her brother?"
"Yeah, I do." Shane's voice was solemn.
"That's when."
"Oh," he blew out a long whistle and cupped his elbow. "Bren had a lot of shite going on that year."
"What do you mean?" Dylan stroked her hair.
"That's her story to tell, innit?"
"What if she doesn't want to tell it?"
"Then just know there's a reason she changed her number." Shane spoke no further on the subject.
She saw his eyeline shift to the dying flames of the fire.
"Mate, I like you. You seem like you want to make this work and I want the same, for Bren. But she's important to me, she's important to my wife and she's important to my family. She's become like a sister to both Katie and I and if you can't trust her around her male colleagues, of which the theatre has many, then maybe you should consider giving her up for good because I won't watch her tear herself up over anyone, not again."
"No," Dylan said firmly, "I tried doing that twice and never forgave myself in both instances. Her brother may as well be my own and is about to marry my other ex. It's a pretty convoluted square we're in, but that's the hand we've been dealt." He dropped a kiss to her cheek. "Bren and I have been part of the same gang since high school. I know none of them are gonna be quite so willing to give her up again, either. She's in my life one way or the other; without her, life loses its meaning. Without her, life lacks oxygen, just going through every day on cruise control. I've had to live without her before and I swear to God I will never do it again. I do trust her. Six million and fifty percent, I trust her. We've been through too much shit to not grab this chance we've been given after so fucking long."
"In that case," he said, "I expect you'll be picking up the slang in about a year."
"Or less," said Dylan as he added, "mate."
"What was that?" Shane guffawed, "Were you trying to sound Aussie?"
"Guess I'll have to work on the accent."
"Remember, if anything happens to Brenda, if I hear from my Katie that Bren is crying over you, I know my way around a cricket bat."
"I'll protect her until my dying breath." She could detect the unbreakable promise bubbling underneath Dylan's statement. "And as much as I fucking loathed you, imagined your fatal tumble onto the tube tracks when I sat there in Finsbury, waiting for the carriage to Heathrow and wanting more than anything to turn back around to Crouch End, back to her," his voice trembled and her heart rippled, "I want to thank you."
"Thank me?" Shane's voice held the understandable surprise of one who'd just been informed of his imagined, brutal death in reaction to an affair which never occurred.
"For caring about her, for making sure she wasn't alone when she tried to shut the rest of us out. It helps a little knowing she didn't have to deal with her brother's disappearance by herself."
"Ah, yeah." Shane cleared his throat, accepting Dylan's proffered handshake. "No bother."
"Even if it should've been me who helped her through it," Dylan murmured so that only she secretly heard.
Her chest tightened within her bra, laced stays of old roping around her stomach. She wished she'd helped him, too.
"Oh and Wachinski?" he added, his voice raising somewhat in decibel.
"Yeah, McKay?"
"Who's David Tennant? Supposedly Bren is dating him so I should probably go confront the guy, you know what I mean?"
Shane expelled a thunderous laugh that shook his shoulders. "McKay, if you're wanting to know Tennant, you've got to start with Hartnell and work your way through."
An hour passed before Brenda opened her eyes to see Dylan's rapt attention on a black-and-white television picture. His face carried a childlike glee, heightened whenever Shane answered a whispered question.
She stretched her arms around the back of his neck, tilting her head upward.
"Hi," he emitted a radiant smile and kissed her forehead, gesturing for Shane to pause the program, "ready to go?"
She gave a fatigued nod.
"Okay." He stood with her in his arms. "Take care, man," he told Shane. "We'll pick this up later."
"Cheers, mate."
She permitted her friend a weak wave and snuggled against Dylan's comforting chest.
"First thing next weekend, I'm getting a car and stashing it at your place. Think you can keep from passing out on me until we make it over to Chelsea?" In the entrance of the tube station nearest to the Wachinski flat, he used one hand to jiggle out the change required for an Underground card whilst securely carrying her with the other.
"Tell me thumthing interesting," she whispered with sloth like inflection.
He smiled, pushing her hair back to kiss along her scalp.
"Okay. I'll tell you all about my beautiful little sister, the sober archaeology major."
"I'd like to see her again."
Smile enhancing, he settled onto an empty seat in an otherwise crowded tube carriage with her straddling his lap. "I'm sure that can be arranged."
He detailed his younger sister's struggle for sobriety, one she'd fought by his persistent side. He spoke of her belated enrollment in Berkeley and her decision to attend grad school further across the continent, in Copenhagen, a city both Brenda and Dylan had been bewitched by during a bank holiday weekend with some of her old classmates from RADA. They'd cuddled together on their shuttered cruise down the canal, listening through the lashing rain as their tour guide rapidly flipped from English to Danish and back again. They'd both felt a certain magic in the city - perhaps from the peacock strutting lazily through Tivoli, the rack of bicycles threatening to outnumber vehicles or the underground bookshops filled with first editions. She'd told him his own works would someday be shelved among the writers of old. He'd shyly grinned and kissed her, just as one of her fellow alum pulled out a Polaroid and blinded them with the flash.
In all the cities they'd visited together, all the towns they explored, there were hundreds of thousands of more that they hadn't - including places they'd toured separately whilst still teenagers.
He carried her from the station down to her home, sloshing through the frosty puddles accumulated from the previous evening's icy rain. Coaxing the half-awake Brenda for her keys, he walked inside, lay her on the bed and started to remove her shoes.
"Dylan?" she yawned, mindlessly reaching out for his arm. He absently squeezed her hand.
"Sí, la reina de mi corazón?" He helped her out of her tight clothing and into one of his shirts.
"I trust you six million and fifty percent, too, even if it is a weird percentage." She spoke with perfect clarity, consonants in all the right places - her first coherent sentence since earlier that evening.
A jerk of his head and stunned cocoa eyes were the last things she saw before she promptly crashed against her beckoning pillow.
-x
Welcome, new readers and those who continue to read. As always, thank you for the reviews and the varying insight!
Shame on Bren for falling asleep on Dylan, again. I just love Shane and Levi. The fountain story is inspired by some friends of mine who had a substantial amount of wine in Rome and promptly walked straight through, coming out completely drenched.
Illumination now has a cast of characters, if anyone is interested to know who plays whom - or you can continue to use your imagination.
xx
* Spoiler for next weekend (the longest chapter yet):
Dylan and Brenda deal with his insecurities (because let's be honest, he definitely had them,) the Prague misunderstanding, the hurt they've given to each other, plus Dylan's past with Kelly, the replacement brunettes and even Toni.
(I've been nice enough to D/K for too long - time to rip their "romance" apart. B/K and S/K forever.)