"We knew what our big rooting interests were, we knew who our big couples were and we were going to take our time to get to them. We obviously knew David and Donna were really, really important no matter who they were with at the time. It was always going to be when they would get back, because that's what the audience wanted. The same thing with Dylan and Brenda or Dylan and Kelly or Brandon and Kelly. You had all that stuff there. We put people in between them and made you suffer and wait for them but we knew where our money was buttered on that stuff. It was just trying to get there and not jump the shark, not go for the cheap jolt." - Larry Mollin
Rated M for a bit More than the screwball comedy's Hays code, but in the PG-13/slight R sense of the twenty-first century so that it is still largely Mild.
xx
Waking to find herself alone in her bed, atop her downy electric blanket, she at first believed the entire evening to be a beautiful dream that she didn't know she desired. The smile she'd consistently kept throughout her dream shriveled. Rolling over on the mattress, her hand trailed down her clothing.
A shirt that wasn't hers. A fragrance hanging around her room that hadn't been there before. The taste of stale alcohol penetrating her senses. The sound of tiptoeing near her bed.
Brenda's eyes adjusted to the new day and the hand that tangled through her hair.
"You're really here." She covered his hand in hers, a lazy smile returning to her countenance.
"Buenos días, mi rayo de sol entre las nubes."
"I have no idea what you just said after good morning."
"Then you've forgotten what I used to call you when we'd wake up together in the old flat, my sun through the clouds." Dylan sat on the edge of her bed, continuing to tease her hair with his fingers.
"In my defense, that was a really long time ago and I haven't exactly kept up on my Spanish."
"Yeah, it was." He momentarily frowned. "And I'm starting to wonder if I should be concerned that you keep falling asleep on me." He offered a bright smile, holding out a cup of acidic green liquid she determined to be mouthwash.
"Did you sleep over there?" She looked to the window seat covered in a thick, woolen blanket.
"Slept on the sofa, but came in earlier to check on you."
"Why did you sleep on the sofa?" She accepted the cup, swishing until the alcohol faded somewhat from her tongue.
"Because I make it a point to not take advantage of an intoxicated woman, no matter how hot she is."
"Intoxicated, you say?"
"Yes, it would seem a certain cask ale went to her head and all my plans for the evening were unfortunately dashed when she decided to swim in a fountain."
"I swam in a fountain?" she gasped, trying to recall her actions of the previous evening.
"Like I'd really let you climb into a fountain in the last weekend of November. Please, Brenda. You're not getting hypothermia on my watch." He punctuated the statement with a bounce of his head.
"And what, pray tell, were your plans?" She patted the empty space behind her.
"Well, you see, this particular signorina and I have been apart for nine dreadfully long years. It is therefore inevitable that I have an awful lot of making up to do."
"Making up or making out?" She granted him a come-hither stare.
He leapt into the bed, grasping her from behind.
"Perhaps a little of both."
"A little?"
"Rather a lot might be the more appropriate duration."
She laughed and lifted the covers over their conjoined form.
"Am I dreaming?" he murmured, kissing her neck.
"If you are," she replied, relaxing into his touch, "would you like someone to wake you?"
"Not a chance." He turned her in his arms so that their lips connected with an insurmountable force.
His hands pressed against her back. Her fingers tangled in his hair. Their tongues danced, forming a foxtrot both remembered and new.
"If I knew that's what I'd be missing," he pulled away to rest his forehead against hers, "I would've fought harder to stay."
"You didn't exactly go without a fight, Dyl," she tickled the back of his neck.
"You asked me to move out, Bren. You didn't ask me to leave the country."
"But you did and now your whole life is back in California. Mine is here." She chewed her lower lip. "I can't ask you to pick up and leave everything for me."
"You aren't. It's my decision and I promise you I'm good with whatever you want to do. If you want to stay in London, we'll stay in London. If you want to move back to Beverly Hills, I'll take you back. If you decide to be closer to your parents in Melbourne, we'll go to Oz." He caught her hand before she could swat at him. "I'd go anywhere with you. I'd move anywhere for you, even to some podunk town in Missouri. The one place I won't go is anywhere you aren't, not again. Never again."
Her nose crinkled.
"Why would we move to Missouri? Did you mix up your M states, McKay?"
"Of course not, Minnesota." He pressed his lips to her nose.
"You really don't mind moving back to London? You can't surf here."
"Why would I mind? London is a spiffing city, governor. And you can't surf in the city, yet," he stressed, "but you can in West Sussex, East Sussex, Kent, hop over to Spain, Greece, Portugal -"
She rolled his eyes at his failed Cockney accent, a distraction from her shock at his research of English surf spots.
"Is Brenda Walsh rolling her eyes at me already?" He feigned distress.
"Perhaps Brenda Walsh isn't overly fond of a poorly done accent."
"You wound me, madame." He leaned in to dip his tongue against hers.
She returned his kiss with a fierce longing and curled her fist into the collar of his shirt.
"I'm afraid Madeline Sanders is far more likely to perfect this accent than her godfather."
"Well, her godfather happens to be dating an insanely talented actress who can perhaps provide him with a few tips or a dialect coach of his own."
"I suppose it would be possible for her to arrange a session for her boyfriend." She reveled in the way the word slipped off her tongue, as if she'd never stopped using it.
He rather liked it, as well, for he cuddled closer to her and moved his lips to the curve of her neck.
"Dylan, I need a shower," she said abruptly.
He reluctantly withdrew his head and looked up to meet her eyes.
"Yeah, okay." He readjusted himself to slide off the bed.
"No," she grabbed his hand, "I need a shower," she said with more force.
He arched an eyebrow and leant forward.
"Bren, are you sure?" His feet shifted nervously. His ravenous eyes searched hers.
"Immensely." She pulled him onto her for another kiss.
His arms quickened to pick her up, snugly holding her against him as her legs tangled around his waist. She reached for the tie around his waistline, undoing the constraint and laughing slightly as he nearly tripped over his spiraling pajama bottoms. She dropped a string of tiny kisses along his ear. He carried her into the bathroom, carefully setting her on the edge of the counter. He stared, unyielding, fingers working over the shower system with little effort.
She watched the water spurt out and then smash down, tiny rivulets hitting against the curtain.
"You remembered how to turn on the shower," she marveled.
"Well, I guess it's a little like riding a bike." He came over and placed both hands on the counter, next to either side of her hips.
"I wonder if anything else is like riding a bike?" Her teasing voice fell over him. His stare never left hers as she lifted the offending fabric from his chest and flung the shirt to the corner, shortly followed by his boxers. Her eyes raked in his figure, more mature and prepossessing than the last time he stood before her, fully nude.
"Like what you see?" he smirked, playing with the hem of his shirt which clad her.
"How the hell did you get more beautiful?" she breathed, sliding a hand along his bare chest.
"I was about to ask you the same question." His fingers moved rapidly, freeing her from what little clothing she wore. "Now, about this bike theory."
Lifting her naked body into his arms, he stepped with her into the shower, slowly began to soap her up, explored her curves with inquisitive hands, initiated a kiss laden with the passion of a thousand star-crossed romances and closed the curtain.
Half an hour later, satiated in both love and lust, he emerged with an uncontrollable grin and pulled her tightly against his chest.
"Oh yeah," he kissed her whilst blindly reaching for a towel, "Definitely like riding a bike." Securing the large, fluffy towel, he wrapped it around them both as he bent to pepper light kisses along her chin. "And dare I say your skill has strengthened with age?"
"You can thank Mr. Cracker for that." Her fingers styled his wet hair.
He playfully growled into her neck.
"Then again, could be Mr. Söderberg. He certainly taught me a thing or two in our extremely brief entanglement. "
He snarled.
"Perhaps Mr. Carson -"
His eyes aligned with hers in an unspoken plea.
"Or maybe -"
He locked her lips to his to prevent a further analysis on her list of ex-bedmates.
"Just tell me one thing," he broke away to gently stroke his finger down her neck and into her cleavage. "That bed in there -"
"Yes?" she asked, her voice sultry.
"Did you sleep in it with Honey Crisp?" His eyes shaded in a hint of trepidation.
"No," she hooked her fingers around his neck, "neither the bed nor home were occupied by Graham at any point of our relationship. I have since moved and you can rest assured that no one has romanced me in this building."
He grinned and pecked her cheek.
"So, in a way, I am once again your first."
She smiled, a wide, high wattage smile that rose into her eyes.
"You know what they say about firsts."
"That they achieve their happy ending?"
She pressed a quick kiss to his lips.
"Not exactly."
"Well, I've never been one for convention." He planted his hands on her waist.
"When should we tell them?" She eyed the hairs on his chest, memorizing every bend of his figure with her errant hands.
"That's entirely up to you." He slid his own hands down her shoulders, his eyes locked to her chest before shifting back to her face.
"If we tell Bran, he'll run to tell Kel."
"And when Kel finds out, she'll call Don, which inevitably leads to David."
"Who will make a point of informing Steve."
"Who will gleefully share the news with Mads."
"Who will start making plans with Hannah -"
"- which will be overheard by Andrea."
They stood pensively, until he noticed her start to shiver. Picking her up in the way of a new bride over the threshold, he departed with her back to the bedroom.
Nuzzling her neck, he suggested an examination of all possible combinations. She laughingly opened the door of her armoire.
"If we tell Donna first, she'll tell David, who will spill to Kel, who will immediately inform Brandon, who will text Steve, who will drop by Andrea's."
"And if we start with Silver, it will be the same ordered grapevine, only with the first two reversed."
"Then if we tell Steve -"
"He'll call a group meeting."
"And my parents -"
"- will tell Brando."
"Val -"
"- will inform Brandon, gloat to Kelly, immediately contact Sanders or all of the above."
He examined her survey of outfit after outfit, shaking or nodding his head as appropriate.
"Andrea may be our best solution," he said after a moment, nipping at her shoulder.
"There's just the small problem of her being unable to keep anything from my brother." She tucked her head into his neck.
"Then we'll tell them all at once," he determined, again lifting her into his arms and over to the bed.
"On Skype?" She latched her arms around his neck.
"Or in person." He readjusted her leg until it tightened against his waist.
"Need I remind you that I just came home, señor?"
"In more ways than one," he smirked, reaching impatiently for her other leg.
She dutifully complied, clenching her fingers on his back as he dipped lower and then upward.
She moaned, the sound spurring him on.
"I don't plan to leave again so soon." She clamped her lips onto his.
"You won't have to." He tickled his tongue over her ear.
"Then how do you propose we have this conversation in person if we're here and they are all there?"
"Simple, Bren," he said and melded their flesh together, "I think it's high time they come here, don't you?"
He collapsed, panting, her body quaking underneath.
"Come here? To London?" Her eyes were wide as she fought to catch her breath.
"That is the here in reference, last time I checked." His eyes crinkled with a smile that matched the one on his lips.
"You want us to host the gang in London?"
"We can invite them and Val, if you want, mainly because I'm not too keen on the idea of Val stabbing either of us if she's the last to know." He slid his tongue over her navel, eliciting a small gasp and her fist through his hair. "Bren, in all the many years you have lived here, the only members of the gang who have visited are myself and Brandon. I have overheard, many times, the Silvers discuss visiting. I helped Sanders research his flight." She looked at him, surprised, and he nodded, grazing back up to tap her chin, "And I know for a fact that Andrea has an entire anthology on the city alone."
"What doesn't she have an anthology on?" She lay a chorus line of kisses down his chest.
"This is true," he gently gripped her head, "but can you imagine Andrea Zuckerman in London?"
"I can imagine taking Andrea sightseeing in London," she stretched down to nip at his stomach, "and am not entirely sure a lengthy history lesson is how I wish to spend an afternoon."
"Having you all to myself the first time around was amazing," he slid her upward until his chin touched hers, "but it may have been part of the problem."
"What do you mean?"
He rubbed their noses together, pushing her hair back towards her hairline. His thumb questioningly stroked the scar uncovered near her scalp, a scar acquired in the time they'd been apart.
"For a bit, it was just the two of us. No Bran. No Steve. No Donna, David, Andrea," he hesitated and watched her closely, "or Kel."
"Dyl, unless you're planning to leave me for Kel yet again or resume this epic love story you supposedly have with her, it's okay for you to say her name," she partially teased, though Brenda felt she would never fully accept his past history with her future sister-in-law.
Perhaps his pronouncement of their convoluted square minimized the complete catastrophe all four allowed their love lives to become.
Thankfully, the pieces had slowly fallen back to where they belonged, on all sides of the square.
"Never," he rolled them over for her to lay underneath, "our story is the only one I accept. My novelette with Kelly was based on lies - lies I told her, lies we told each other. Lie number one was choosing her when I knew I would've chosen you and our novel in an instant if you'd shown up to the Bel Age. Lie number two was chasing her, which was only because you were gone and I didn't want Brandon to have her when I could never measure up to him, or to your father, or to your grandfather. You had so many great men in your life and then there was me, the constant fuckup."
"That's why you're back with me? So you can prove you're on the same level as my brother, so you won't have to keep competing with him for Kel's affections?"
"No," he kissed her with powerful intensity, "because I love you, most ardently, and if I've done one thing right in this life, it was helping your brother fix his car so that I could hop in the shower and step out to my future wife."
She liked the way that sounded, the spouse of Dylan McKay, provided he rid himself of the ridiculous notion that they would raise six children.
If they did adopt or she did bear children, it would be three, max. Perhaps four, though that pushed her limits.
"I guess I never felt good enough for you or your family. Kelly was the easy way out - at first. But, you know what they say; be careful what you wish for." He pulled her into his side. "When you two gave me that fucking ultimatum, I visualized our future - all these kids, another on the way. I tried to visualize it with Kel, but her dream self just accused me of still carrying a torch for you." He slowly moved his hand through her hair. "And that was the core issue, Bren. It scared the shit out of me, to have those kinds of feelings when I'd only just reached the voting age. I didn't want you to base your life on me. You had so much potential and I didn't even want to go to college. I didn't want you to regret anything later, to resent me, so instead, I let you go by hurting you in the worst possible way so that you did resent me in other ways. No one said I was smart about it. In the end, you couldn't have possibly resented me as much as I resented myself. I can't apologize enough for what I did to you. I can't take it back - fuck, I wish I could, you have no idea - but I can promise I won't ever hurt you again. Hurting you is the equivalence of hurting myself and I'm done hurting myself."
She tried to swallow past the rather large pretzel twisting in her throat. He gently rested his chin against her cheek, tangling their legs together to warm her freezing thighs.
"I'm not that terrified kid anymore. You don't have to follow a curfew. We don't have to hide from your parents or worry about unwanted pregnancies. I'm not going to lose it over every guy you work with or whatever male friends you make outside of our group. Because you will. You'll make lots of them. That's just the kind of person you are." He slid his hands around her bare back, trailing along her spine. "I'll declare my love for you over and over again, shout it from the chimneys, hire a skywriter, whatever it takes, however long it takes, until you understand I'm not going anywhere. There are two women in this world who I've wanted to marry; Kelly is not one of them. If you hadn't fled the country, Toni wouldn't have been, either, and that's the honest to God truth."
He settled his head into her chest, clutching her tightly.
"When you left for London, Bren, it broke me. I couldn't let you know, didn't want you to know. I was angry at you for staying past the summer. I told Brandon you moved to another continent to get away from him," her eyes widened, "but I was really telling myself you moved away from me and all my demons." He laughed bitterly. "So I did what I always do - fought the pain. Developed an unhealthy attachment with Kelly after a bullshit hypnotherapy thing. Tried so damn hard to forget. Then I met Toni and she made life bearable. She never made me forget, no one ever could, but she helped. I lost her and the nightmares came, visions of you in London, in a car, a driveby and -" he shook his head, unable to finish. "I knew that I had to find you, had to find my home, see for myself you were okay. And I did find you - up on that stage, where I didn't know you'd be." He wrapped both of his arms around her. "When it comes to our future, I want exactly what I dreamt of with you. Losing you is not an option this time." He grasped her hand behind her head, bringing it forward to rest his lips upon it. "Besides, you can't force something that isn't there. Kel and I? Haven't been there for a very long time. You and I, on the other hand," he gave a smug look and planted both hands on her derrière.
Bearing an avalanche of uncovered emotions, yet slightly reassured, she set her head on his chest. He folded her into his arms and kissed the top of her head.
"If I wanted anyone else, I promise you I wouldn't be here now. I wouldn't do that to you. I couldn't bring myself to love Kelly until you weren't in the picture, not the other way around. I was a terrible boyfriend to her because she wasn't who was on my mind, every milisecond of every fucking day. She wasn't the face I saw every morning, even if she was right there. She wasn't who I dreamt of every night, but she was the one I convinced to give me another chance and forced a connection with to try to get you off my mind."
"But you did have a connection, didn't you? You only connected with her and," she hesitated, adding with a much more tenderhearted air which softened her initial bitterness, "your wife."
He reacted as one who'd just been whacked in the face with a crowbar.
"You heard about that?"
She nodded.
"How?" he scratchily whispered.
"People talk," she shrugged to avoid revealing her source.
She'd been informed of his declaration by an overly fatigued Steve, who at the time felt it important she knew and later lacked the recollection of their conversation. He'd overheard a gossip session between Donna and Kelly, regarding a discussion the latter engaged in with her ex. It'd been supremely easy to afterward lock Dylan out of her life, to manifest her own lie amongst their mutuals that their shared life in London never occurred - hoping that, overtime, the others would simply forget and accept her false truth as they had allowed his.
"Fuck what I said back then. I was angry, jealous, shattered and lying through my damn teeth - even about when we broke up. I'm not proud of how I acted, Brenda. I'm so fucking sorry for it and I'll spend the rest of my life groveling if I have to, but I know exactly why I did it. I did everything possible to distract myself from the goddamn terror of you moving on with Wachinski or Vaughn, to avoid the aching idea of being forced to see one of them integrate into our octagon, hear of my best friend playing uncle to their future kids that should've been mine, but it didn't work. It never worked." Unbidden, relentless tears cascaded down both of their faces. She wiped his; he wiped hers. "I don't want Kelly Taylor. I haven't wanted Kel for more than half of the Madster's life. The only person I want is right here in my arms, where I'll make goddamn sure she stays. We do have a connection. We have a connection no one can touch, not a single damn person. You know we do, ever since that day at the lockers." His voice crackled. "You aren't my second choice, baby. You're the only choice. You're the choice I should've made all along and the choice I'll keep making as long as you let me, for fifty, sixty, seventy years."
She greeted his monologue with silence, taking his hand into hers when she saw the resulting fear jump into his eyes at her non-response.
"I never wanted Shane. I never wanted Euston. In nine years, I have shagged other guys, some really hot guys," he glowered and she giggled, "but I never got close to any of them, except Graham. And even he couldn't give me the same intensity that's always been between us. He was kind, he was generous, he was loving, he was bloody gorgeous and I'd be lying if I said I didn't love him - a piece of me might always love him," Dylan's stare held an odd combination of understanding and annoyance, "but he wasn't you. No one can ever be you. That's why I stayed away, Dylan. That's why I shut you out. Because I knew the second I saw you or just heard your voice, it'd all start flooding back and my heart would crumble all over again. You thought I hated you; it would've been much less complicated if I did. And when I heard you had knocked Kelly up, it was easier to force myself to forget you. But I couldn't, not really."
"Baby, no one, not Toni, not Kelly, not Val, Gina or whoever the fuck else could ever be you. None of them even come close. I didn't want to admit that before. I didn't want to destroy Toni's memory like that. She loved me with everything that she was and as much as I wanted to love her the same, I couldn't. I did love her, but I couldn't give her my entire being because," he added roughly, "it wasn't mine to give. It hopped on that plane with you and never really came back. I couldn't even talk myself into telling you I was getting married to someone who wasn't you, when I'd spent years wishing we could do it all over, do Paris all over, drive the DeLorean back to summer of '93. But you - were here - and I - was there. And," he swallowed, "I knew how you felt about LDR's."
She circled her thumb against the side of his neck. He angled his face into her touch, breathing heavily.
"I swear to be faithful to you and you alone, to never make you doubt my fidelity," she whispered, fully understanding her own role in their initial downfall with her equally wandering eye and the impact it held on the malfunctioning ferris wheel of their later relationship, "to never make you question how I feel."
"Oh, trust me, I will make you quake to the point where anyone else will fade from your perspective." He grinned, ducking from her flying hand. "But the thing is, Bren; last time, we shut out the world and it was fantastic - until it wasn't. I became resentful, especially of your connection with Wachinski."
"So asking the gang to visit would be some kind of test?"
"I think we've had all the testing we need." His eyes flicked to her walls. "You could use some pictures in here."
"I do have pictures in here."
"No, baby, you have pictures of Walshes, Beevises, the gang and other group photos. You need ones that are a little less," his lips curled upward, "crowded."
"What pictures did you have in mind?" She gave a seductive smile.
"Well, I seem to recall a cardboard box your mother sent to Iris -"
She gaped.
"Iris has the box?"
He tilted his head.
"I'm guessing you didn't know?"
"I thought it drowned," she said, amazed that their tangible story remained in storage at his mother's home.
"You thought - huh?" Palpable confusion clouded his tranquil countenance.
"I just assumed it drowned in the '98 El Niño."
"That would've been poetic," he allowed, "the drowning of what Iris says is our story in the year I permitted a monsoon to drown us here. But the only poet in this is me and that is not the poem I have written."
"So Iris has the box," she slowly repeated.
"Cindy found it when they were cleaning out the garage before your parents took off for Hong Kong." He dropped a kiss to her cheek. "She decided you wouldn't want it and I was -" he paused, "otherwise engaged, but she wasn't overly fond of the idea of disposing of its contents. So, she mailed it to Iris and Iris, for some reason, decided to keep it."
Still shocked, she ducked her head into his shoulder and recalled the day when she created her Dylan box. She'd planned to set fire to everything or perhaps dump it in a landfill, but Iris and to some extent, Cindy, persuaded her out of her hastiness.
She supposed it only stood to reason that both of their mothers would have found a way to hold on to it even long after their transatlantic split.
"Suddenly shy? That's not like you." He lifted her chin. "What exactly is in that box, Bren?"
She bit her lower lip and fidgeted with his fingers.
"Baby, what's in the box? Besides the pictures, I mean." He crooked his brow.
She inhaled slowly.
"A concert ticket, a lei, a seashell from a Mexican beach, a few of those poems you used to write me when you should've been paying attention in chemistry -"
"Hard to do when we already had more chem than the teach covered in an entire semester," he issued a smug smile.
"- a half-sliced surfboard shot with you and Kelly and, among other things," she stroked her thumb along the bottom of her lip, "half of a heart."
His mouth opened and then closed, resembling a fish caught on the edge of a pier.
"Would that be the missing piece to the half of a heart which sits in Madeline Sanders' jewelry box?" he whispered, latching his fingers to hers.
"Why does my magical Maddie have half of a heart?"
His hand roamed over her bare thigh.
"Because your boyfriend gave it to her after her mother's funeral." She blinked, tugging him off of the bed. "After the accident, Mads couldn't understand Janet's heart being in another person. I told her if she had that half, Janet's heart would always be with her."
"And my boyfriend still had it because -"
He snuck his arms around her waist from behind, tucking his head against her back as she once more searched for an ensemble.
"I dunno, Bren. Maybe he still hoped he'd get the other half back someday."
"Then he'll just have to ask Iris McKay."
He spun her around so that they stood face-to-face.
"You're making it next to impossible to get dressed," she breathed, arms laden with four possibilities.
"Clothes are overrated." He hovered his mouth over her neck, the illusion of an alligator snapping at its prey.
"But vital for auditions," she lightly pushed him backward onto the bed, "unless you'd like my next play to be strictly nude."
"That does sound rather appealing, if the whole of London wouldn't be staring at my girl's assets."
"Then your girl must really get dressed."
"One more." He brought his hands to her waist to pull her back onto him.
Fifteen minutes later, she collapsed, gasping.
"Okay," he kissed her insatiably, "now you may get dressed."
She granted him a coy smile, smacking his underside before extracting herself from his grasp.
"Didn't realize I needed your permission."
"My permission is not required, madame - merely the relinquishment of your body." He leapt from the bed to don clothing himself.
He continued to stare at the woman standing on the opposite end of the room, who met his gaze with a dreamy one of her own.
"Though if it were up to me, we would stay like this all day," he added, rich, inviting eyes alighting into a sly glance.
"Aha," she said, slipping on her outfit, "you do want me for my body."
"C'est n'est pas la principale raison, mais c'est un facteur très magnifique," he murmured, returning his arms to her waist once she stood clothed.
"I'm afraid my française is a bit rusty." She arched her shoulder as his lips glided along her neck.
"Rusty on your español, rusty on your française. See? You obviously need me around to help you keep up on your language skills. I advise that you brush up soon, especially on your French."
She tilted his head up to look in her stunned gaze.
"Wait, are you -"
"That's right, baby," he temporarily hid an impish grin between her lips, "after we show the gang London, we're reclaiming Paris." He pronounced the city in the way of the Parisians, with an added pop of the first letter for dramatic effect.
"Dylan!" she gasped. She spotted the excitement waltzing through her eyes in the reflection of his.
"You asked me once if the city is different with someone you love. As of yet, I have not been able to determine whether this is true. And, unless you fell passionately in love with one Rick Wisconsonite while you were over there, or perhaps our dear friend, Donna Martin," he twirled her, causing the skirt of her dress to flounce upward, "or potentially took Paris with Telegram, then I believe you haven't discovered the answer, either."
"Rick Wisconsinite?" she laughed.
"Never got his last name," he trailed his hands over her shoulders, "though can't say I'd of cared if I did."
"You know, I don't even remember it." She leaned forward to kiss his collarbone. "In the grand scheme of things, Rick was just so inconsequential. And I never told you how utterly dull he turned out to be."
"The grand scheme of things?" He tightened his hands in her hair. "You may want to reexamine your grand schemes, Brenda. They often lead you to the wrong conclusion, especially when it comes to a girl I knew in high school." He placed his hands on the side of her neck, tilting her head upward to view his careless grin.
"Are you just going to mention everything I told you?"
"Well, a few of our discussions were some of my favorite moments." He reached behind her back to tangle their hands. "What do you say, Bren? You, me, Balzac."
"I never turn down a free trip to Paris." Her smile shone radiantly and held little difference from the strands of lights which crisscrossed the Eiffel Tower.
"All trips come with a price tag," he kissed the flesh that separated her ear from her cheek, "and this one will assuredly have a stipulation."
"What kind of stipulation?"
"That we spend infinitely more time sightseeing than shopping." The laughter on his lips dove through his eyes.
"You have a deal." She lay her lips to his, standing at a nearly equal height in her heeled boots.
He readily gave in to their kiss and pulled away to look in her eyes. "God, you have no idea how much I have missed these perfect lips."
She beamed, running her hands along the length of his frame.
"You never have to miss them again."
"That's not true," he playfully pouted, "I'll miss them for hours when they leave to face the harsh, cruel mistress that is reality all on their own."
"But they'll return every night, provided you don't take up a mistress yourself," she half-smirked.
"Scout's honor." He held up his hand.
"You were never a Scout."
"No, but your brother was and I think in knowing him for as long as I have, I may of picked up a thing or two."
"Now that's one person who's going to be annoyingly gloaty over our reunion." She reached for her bag.
He readjusted the pageboy hat that sat atop her hair, crooking it to permit a better view of her mesmerizing eyes.
"I wonder how Jimbo will feel." His voice softened.
"Or Kel, for that matter," hers came out somewhat embittered.
"Honestly?" his hands palmed her rear, "She'll probably kick my ass."
"For getting back together with me?" She locked her fingers around his neck.
"No, for not doing it sooner."
He nipped at her nose, wiping the confusion away.
"Remember those Brendas I told you about?"
She bent her neck up, nodding slowly.
"Well, after we mutually broke up and before Kel went to track down Brandon, she said that I clearly still had a thing for you and instead of moping in my sleep, I should go after what I really wanted instead of hold on to what I thought I should want."
"She actually encouraged you to go after me?" To paint her as startled would have been an inaccurate description. She swore her brain properly exploded at his admission, a remark much more likely of Donna Martin Silver than of her ex-best friend-possibly friend again about-to-be-sister-in-law, the utterly perplexing Kelly Taylor.
He stroked his tongue along hers. "Mm," he rested his lips against her ear, "kind of. She mainly worried I'd run back to Gina, or something."
That she could believe.
"The women of my past, the men of yours; baby, they don't have to factor in unless we let them. In life, sometimes we love multiple people at different points, but there's that one person who's raised above all the rest. For most, it's the one who came later; for some, it's the one who was there from the start." His hands palmed her neck. "In my case, it's the one I knew all along. You are my greatest love, Brenda. You're it for me, the only story I want to tell. In the grand scheme of things, it's you. It's always been you. Bottom line is, I belong with you. You belong with me. Your brother belongs with Kelly. It took me way too long to realize it. Kel and I hurt a lot of people on that road to discovery - including you. Especially you. I fucked up with you for her. I fucked up with Bran for her. But the person I fucked up most was me."
Pressing her closer, he sighed into her hair.
"I should've come back here. I should've begged you to take me back sooner, but I was still too pissed and pretty convinced I'd find you shacking up with someone else. If I hadn't fucked things up so badly with you, truth is I never would've gone back to Kel. I wasn't happy; hell, I was fucking miserable. So was she. My list of regrets is long, so fucking long it has more words than Tolstoy. Going back to her is high on that list. Kelly and I were a summer fling that should've ended back in high school, or never should've begun because yeah, I've loved her like you've loved Cinnamon and probably that asshole Carson, but I've never felt about her the way I feel about you. She's never had the power to hurt me as much as you. Losing her doesn't affect me to the point of losing you."
She set her fingers under the tears which again began to fill his earnest eyes, feeling her own heart squeeze a little more with every divulgence.
"Every time I screwed things up with you, I just wanted to numb myself to the overwhelming pain and that's what I did when I went after Kelly. We were trying to hold onto something neither of us truly wanted because the two people we did want were no longer around - and she actually had a shot at getting Brandon back; you were probably hoping I'd tumble into a long, fiery pit. So rather than track you down, race into your place and find the other half of my heart in bed with another which would've literally killed me, I decided to drown you out of my life, instead."
She worriedly stroked her finger along his hand.
"Alcohol? Drugs?"
"Nah." He shook his head. "Surfing. Cleanup initiatives. Focusing solely on the waves and the writing. Which reminds me," he turned towards the nearly wall-length bookcase, "wanna tell me why you have the entire Waving Heart of Baja collection?"
One of her shoulders lifted in a half-shrug.
"Because it's brilliant. I really like 'Crimson Lagoon.'"
"You should." He tucked her hair behind her ears. "It's about you."
"Me?"
He rested his elbows on her shoulders.
"Illustrious pink dress, yard trampled in regret. Summer, so long, beating on a winter gong. Hum the song, that haunting tune; it lingers, waves fester, carved beneath his crimson lagoon," he quoted, voice softening with every word.
"I'm the ex in the pink dress?"
"Past tense. Girlfriend in the pink dress." He connected their lips, withdrawing his forehead to rest against hers. "Fiancée, wife, baby mama, reigning queen of my every extremity, take your pick. Ex is so nineties." He glanced at her bedside clock. "When's the audition?"
"Half past."
He tilted his head in question, leading her to remind him of the American equivalent.
"Perfect. That gives us enough time to grab something to eat beforehand. You good with your planned monologue and everything?"
She smiled. "Had it memorized for days."
"No surprise," he took her hand, "C'mon, babe, I'm famished. Have to rebuild my strength if I'm going to keep successfully pleasuring you."
"Cocky much?" she asked, laughing.
"Nope. Just madly in love and ready for whatever shit life throws my way, as long as you remain by my side and I, in your bed." He set another kiss upon her lips as they departed into the chilly day, walking the route into Central London and the West End theatres with his arms latched around his love in physical, emotional and spiritual warmth which warded off the unpleasant winter temperature attempting to seep through her coat.
-x
Season nine can go suck an elf.
I do think Dylan definitely loved Toni (and I can't easily pretend he didn't at least believe he had some kind of love for Kelly after the shit of season nine,) but not to the extent he loved Brenda.
The French phrase should've been: "It is not the principle reason, but it is a factor that is very magnificent" or something along those lines.
(If my French or Spanish is off, please let me know so I can fix it.)
Crystal: I'm glad you thought so! That was one of my favourite chapters to write for them.
Brendamckay61: Thank you! We never really saw a plastered Bren, but I picture it would be something like that. Shane's half-right; she mainly doesn't drink often in solidarity with Dylan's alcoholism issues, but she's also a hilarious mess when she does.