Strands of light pirouetted along the stone enshrouded in darkness. His hand grazed its rim, brushing off the blackened sand that obscured writing. His fingers traced along the uncovered name.
A name not engraved, but rather etched in handwriting.
Male handwriting, it seemed, judging by the slant of the letters.
He crouched in the emerald grass that grew along the stone. The operetta of his heart drowned out the still night.
Liam Walsham. Born September of 1892. Died same month, same year.
Same day, he thought, but there lacked an indication of a date.
He felt compelled to perform against his forehead and shoulders the sign of the cross, though as an agnostic, it surprised him that he knew the gesture.
He spoke in a language foreign to his ears.
"Mo mhac."
My son.
How he knew the words and the translation, he could not be certain.
He turned towards a whimper, a shadow of a woman with a babe strapped to her chest.
A woman repeating the same words he had just spoken.
Mo mhac.
He knew that woman.
"Brenda!" he called.
She turned to search for the voice. Just before her eyes met his, a man stepped between them.
Mo shíoghrá, said the man. Mo mhac.
No, he heard from his lips. Mo shíoghrá, he insisted. Mo mhac.
Ye are alone, said the man. And our Brenda is here.
I am not alone, said Dylan. Brenda is with me.
Brenda is not in yer time zone.
I know that. She's back in the future with fucking Monaghan, but she's also here.
Who is this Monaghan? Brenda and her son are with me.
Dylan threw his pillow at the wall.
Fucking hell. It had happened again.
It had happened numerous nights since finding the letter at LAX.
It hadn't been his letter. It hadn't been his son, studying in Cork.
So why had it felt as if it were?
He didn't always see a grave. Sometimes, Dylan would see Brenda hunched over on all fours, dressed in the garb of multiple eras with her belly jutting out. He would try to run to her, to catch her in time before the child came.
Every time he drew near, he was deterred by an ocean he couldn't cross.
And every time, he watched the distant figure of his Brenda, weeping over the bundle in her arms as that man, that other man, held her.
The other man, who even in his shadow appeared nothing like Monaghan.
He needed to see her. Properly see her. Needed to talk to her. See if she knew the meaning of his nightmares. He didn't know why they couldn't connect as they had in the summer, and it was driving him crazy.
They had known a Liam, a close friend of Brenda's from RADA who possessed such a vigor for life that he had quickly persuaded Dylan to loosen up around Brenda's London gang. Dylan had seen Liam's name listed amongst those injured in the 7 July attacks on the London Underground. He had attempted to find an email, phone number, some kind of contact for Brenda to share his condolences. Notoriously private by that point, Brenda's contact had been untraceable until the creation of her Facebook. An email to Brandon went unanswered and, he assumed, unread. Dylan had resorted to emailing Jim, hoping Jim's email address had remained the same and that Jim would pass on the message to Brenda.
Had Brenda planned to name her child with Monaghan after their Liam? Had she lost that child?
Dylan doubted Monaghan had even met Liam, let alone exchanged heated poetry debates with Liam, as Dylan had.
He began writing furiously in his journal, trying to pinpoint every small detail of his dream; or, in this case, nightmare.
He had spoken of his frustration to Iris, who suggested that perhaps the other Brenda had not been experiencing enough sleep in order to make contact.
That had worried Dylan more.
The only acceptable part of the situation was that it permitted him time to continue to practice the techniques Iris had assured him would eventually allow him to remember the conversations he had with Brenda.
If he would have any further conversations with Brenda.
He couldn't think like that.
He instead dwelt on the paraphernalia lining Brandon's bedroom walls. Baseball trophies. Hockey medals. A poster of the Timberwolves.
It had taken the Walsh parents longer than they preferred to secure a meeting with Buffalo's Child Services to discuss the possibility of custody of the Malone children.
When Brenda heard that Suzie and Curtis might be released without Valerie, she had gone into a frenzy. The upstairs and downstairs were cleaned; the drawers in the kitchen, organized. They finally managed to calm Brenda enough that she stopped cleaning; as much as one could calm a girl fearful for her sister's future.
The time it took to calm Brenda had extended well past curfew. Iris had called Cindy, who said Dylan could stay the night, provided he remained in Brandon's room.
It would be so easy to cross into Brenda's and slip beneath her covers. Hold her as she slept. Lose sleep himself when his eyes would stay open, focused on the curve of her lips when she breathed.
It would be easy; too easy, and in choosing the easy route, he would lose Jim's and Cindy's trust that he had worked to build.
So he remained in Brandon's room.
Nat had indulged his honorary children and Iris in a homebaked, late-night dessert. When Dylan rolled out of bed, he still tasted the chocolate from the opera cake that Brenda had popped in his mouth.
He couldn't wait until she tasted l'opera on the streets of Paris, or perhaps he would take her to the patisserie in Rouen where his old au pair had first introduced him to the magnificence of the French language.
It was there, over lunch of fried calamari, pommes frites and passionfruit sorbet that Dylan had asked his au pair to help him become fluent.
When Kelly mentioned Rouen before their summer trip to France and Dylan had instead suggested booking accommodation in Chantilly, he should have known there would always be parts of himself he wouldn't want to share with Kelly.
Rouen had been intended for Brenda, who would have appreciated its ties to Joan of Arc and the stained glass windows within its grand cathedral.
Kelly would have never left the shops.
Never did leave the shops in Paris. Complained when Dylan wanted to sit along the Seine and read. Complained when Dylan paid more attention to the architecture than to her. Complained of the smoke puncturing the walls of their hotel.
Complained. That was what Kelly did: complain.
Dylan had wanted to do Paris over with Brenda. Reclaim what he had given another, who hadn't appreciated the city Dylan loved beyond what it could offer for her wardrobe.
He hadn't been able to show Brenda their mutually beloved city in that life, but he could now.
He found her already dressed downstairs, working on their chemistry homework as she dropped hazelnut-colored beans into the coffee maker.
"Morning baby," he said on instinct, capturing her against his waist as he tucked his lips into the side of her neck.
"And a good morning to you, honey," she said, turning in his arms. "Did you sleep well?"
"Not as well as I would've done if I'd slept near you instead of your snoring brother." He kissed the edge of her cheek.
Her fingers bent under his chin. "I was fishing?" she asked, well-versed in his cryptic dreams after they had added them to their notebook.
"It was a grave," he said. "Liam's. I saw you this time. You were holding something."
"It's been Liam's ever since that letter, hasn't it?"
He gave a tiny jerk of a nod, unwilling to go into a deeper nod as it would break the moment.
"Were you able to talk to me?" she asked.
"No. I woke up just as you turned around."
"Then it was a Past Me?"
"That's the assumption."
"So Past Me and Past You must've had a son named Liam who we lost," declared Brenda.
Dylan didn't like the idea of any of their lives losing a child.
"Yeah, that must be it," he said. Faux enthusiasm dripped over his words.
He didn't think that was it, but he didn't have another explanation.
"You know that new girl Emily?" asked Brenda.
"Think I've seen her around," said Dylan, working to taper his concern that Brenda had met Emily Valentine. He supposed it had been inevitable, but had nonetheless hoped that they wouldn't run into each other. "Steve was heartbroken over her rejection of him," Dylan added.
"Well, she asked out Marianne Moore and their first date was last weekend," said Brenda, "so I bet Brandon's broken up over that, too. Anyway, Emily plays the guitar and is a really good singer, so when Chris told her I sing, too, Emily asked if I'd be interested in doing a duet for Hello Day."
"What'd you say?"
"I said of course, as long as Donna and Bonnie could be our backup dancers. We asked Andrea to be our third. She has to cover Hello Day for the Blaze and we can't really do it with two, so do you know anyone who could be our third?"
"Did you ask Sherice?"
"I did and she said she'll do our costumes, but she said she doesn't dance to 'the stuff you people call music.'"
"I'm sure you'll find someone. You could always ask Silver or Scanlon. You and Donna might even be able to persuade Sanders to do it."
"If you think my persuasion skills are that good, then -"
"Privately, for you," Dylan cut in. "Not in front of the whole school."
"A private session with you in a tight black number?" Brenda teased. "I might have to take you up on it."
"You get me in a tight black number, and I'm knocking you up the same night."
"Okay, so we'll wait a bit." Brenda poured maple syrup over the stack of chocolate chip pancakes she set before him. "I like this," she said. "Waking up and seeing you come down the stairs."
"And I like you, offering me pancakes. One day when we're in our own home, I'm gonna walk down our stairs butt-naked. Or maybe in a robe."
"Who says we'll have stairs?" she asked with an impish grin.
"You're right," he played along. "We might not." He plunged the knife and fork she offered into the stack. "You cook these?"
"Tried." At that, her reaction became sheepish. "I'm not half as good as Mom and Nat."
"You're on the way there." Dylan chewed a forkful of warm, ooey goodness. "You have plenty of time to become a better chef than your mother and Nat before the kids start begging you for lasagna."
"Don't you mean, you'll be begging me for lasagna?"
"I'll lead the charge. And I'll have the kids hand you things from the pantry."
It had become second nature, discussing their future family as if they were already engaged.
If they weren't sixteen, Dylan would have gone down on one knee the second Brenda told him of her willingness to try again.
If they weren't sixteen, she would have accepted on the spot.
Being able to openly love Brenda Walsh and to have her reciprocate felt like a long, endless holiday, buried in the hills of Luxembourg away from the tedium of everyday life.
Luxembourg. He'd have to take Brenda there, too.
Knowing that Kelly could incinerate his good feeling at any moment, either through informing Brenda of the events of the past or doing to Brenda whatever she had done to Zosha, did dampen Dylan's relaxed mood.
But not enough to affect his moments with Brenda.
"I wasn't that bad," she said.
"Brenda, your brother and I walked in to you organizing the condiments by their country of origin."
"There's a massive difference between lemon olive oil and olive oil," Brenda defended.
Dylan gave her a look.
"I'm just scared for Val," she admitted. Her shoulders deflated in the manner of a balloon emptied of helium.
"I know you are." Stilling his fork, he reached out to squeeze her shoulder. "You heard Cin. They won't return without Val. She's almost seventeen. That'll make the courts more open to her opinion. And I guarantee she's gonna tell them she wants to come here."
"That's not it," said Brenda. "I mean; it is, of course I want her to move in, but I'm mainly terrified that she's gonna want to keep quiet about what her parents have been doing and it'll wreak so much havoc on her psyche."
"Want me to talk to her?" Dylan offered.
"I think David would be the best person to do that," said Brenda, "but I appreciate that you asked."
"Whatever I can do to persuade my girl to leave the poor olive oils alone." Dylan's lips curled over his cup of coffee. "And no offense, babe, but your brother could teach you a thing or two about how to make a good cup."
"Gee, thanks."
"No big deal. Nat can't make one, either."
"Okay, Signeur Caffé Snob, if you're so convinced, why don't you show us what you can do with a bag of beans and a coffee pot?"
"I will." Dylan dug into his third pancake. "When we go to Luxembourg, I'll make you a cup."
"We're going to Luxembourg?"
"Train ride from Paris, about two, three hours. We can easily hit it up. You'd love Luxembourg."
"You've been?"
"Read about it," he said honestly, though he omitted why he had read about it.
Brenda's first cinematic role had been filmed in Luxembourg.
"Are you sure we're gonna come back from this trip?" she asked. "We keep tacking on countries. We've already added Switzerland for the mountains and Croatia for the beach. And we might want to add Ireland."
"Why?" asked Dylan, attempting to cloak his forming fist.
"Why not?" she said. "We both keep dreaming about Ireland, don't we? It keeps popping up in our visions, and now you've even seen a grave that might be over there. If we want to figure any of this out, then our best bet is to go to the source. Maybe the letter means something; not so much telling us to meet that one couple's Liam, but to visit the town he's in. Maybe we need to start our search in Kinsale. We might even find that grave there."
"I guess," said Dylan. He was none too thrilled about the idea of Brenda running into Monaghan sooner than she previously had; yet, was simultaneously thrilled at being the one with whom Brenda wanted to see Ireland. Had it not been the home of Monaghan, the place that destroyed any chance of Dylan's reunion with Brenda, Ireland would have been a perfectly fine country to visit.
It still can be, mused Dylan. So what if Bren meets Monaghan, the shithead. He'll know straight-off she's taken. Hell, at this point, Monaghan could be taken by someone else. And Bren's right. What if we do need to go to Kinsale to figure out what these dreams mean? I bet the library in Cork has a shit ton of records you can't find here. Maybe you can't even find them when Google becomes a thing. Am I really gonna wait another seven fucking years for Google, or another five for AskJeeves?
Fuck no. I'm getting these dreams for a reason and I need to know that reason now.
"Make the list as long as you want," said Dylan, "wherever you wanna go. Ireland included, if you've got a strong urge to visit. We'll just spend the whole summer, going from country to country. Catching trains, planes, boats; you name it. Kinda like backpacking, but with the McKay budget. All you can eat, whatever you wanna eat, whenever you wanna eat it."
"Are you trying to buy my love, McKay?"
"No, but I won't knock it if it's working, she-who-has-been-a-McKay-and-will-be-again."
"You're gonna have to shorten my title."
"The Eternal Mrs. McKay?"
"We'll work on it. You think my parents would go for this? I've never been away from home for that long before."
"They'll have a lot going on. We'll take Brandon along and explore the campuses you're considering. That oughta help."
"Take me along where?" Brandon padded into the kitchen in his slippers and kinked his neck in the entryway.
"To Europe," said Brenda. "Dylan wants to take me next summer."
"You trying to buy my little sister's devotion, D?" teased Brandon.
"You two are way too much alike," said Dylan, pointing between the sniggering twins. "But if it works, I'll buy yours too, brother."
"You don't need to buy my friendship."
"Then how's about it, B? You, me, and our girl walking around in the cities of Europe. Pigging out on real bread."
"Keep Bren away from mountainsides and I'm in," said Brandon.
"Rude," said Brenda.
"But necessary." Dylan latched his arms around her before she could react. "Both of you are staying far away from mountainsides, if I've got anything to say about it."
"We're gonna need Val along too," said Brandon. "If it's just me and the wannabe Guinness World Record holders for finding the most places you can put your hands on someone, I'm gonna go crazy."
"Val would love it, I think." Brenda looked at Dylan.
"If it'll keep your brother from complaining, then sounds good to me," said Dylan.
"I don't complain," said Brandon. "I point out facts."
"Well the fact is, by that point, Val might invite someone herself," said Brenda.
"Making B the fifth wheel," said Dylan. "Unless you want to invite someone yourself, B?"
"A certain blonde, perhaps?" Brenda caught on.
"We aren't talking to Kelly," said Brandon.
"Not true," said Dylan. "You talked to her yesterday when you told her off for presumably spreading those rumors about Donna."
"If Donna wants to save herself for marriage, it's no one's business but her own," said Brandon. "I don't know how Kelly can be so mean to the person she used to call her best friend."
"Retaliation," said Brenda. "As long as Donna stayed on Kelly's side, so to speak, she was safe. Now that Donna's cut Kelly out of her life, she's lost Kelly's protection. I wish I could say it's just her lashing out, but lashing out is making biting comments about Donna's hair, about her fashion choices, not telling everyone Donna's show at Steve's party sophomore year was all an act to avoid judgment."
"I'm not really looking to talk about Kelly," said Dylan. "Are you?" he asked the twins.
"No," said Brandon.
"Honestly? Yeah," said Brenda. "The Zosha thing. I can't get it out of my head. Emilio's convinced Kelly had something to do with it. Right now, she's acting the part of scorned mean girl. She'd have to be straight-up heartless to do that to Zosha and if she is that heartless, than what does that say about me and Donna for ever being friends with her?"
"Could've been an accident," said Brandon. "But accident or not, if Kelly knew anything about Zosha's condition or whereabouts and never said anything, then she's capable of extreme cruelty, Bren. And right now, she has it out for both of my sisters. I don't want either you or Val anywhere near her."
"That goes double for me." Dylan set his chin on Brenda's head. "So, Saturday," he added, switching topics. "The first Saturday none of us have to work. Got anything special going on today, B?"
Brandon casually dropped he would be spending the day with Donna, to which both Dylan and Brenda puckered their respective brows in their brother's direction. In preparation of the Malone children's arrival, Samantha had offered for Donna to stay in the Sanders mansion whilst Donna continued to deliberate on emancipation.
She had allowed fear to control her decision: the fear that once Donna put pen to paper and her separation from her mother became official, her father would awaken. Donna's main concern was that learning of his daughter's decision would send John Martin straight back into his coma.
If Donna didn't make a decision soon, Felice would do a lot more than show up unannounced after school to guilt Donna into returning home for the sake of her sibling's health.
Steve had led Donna away the first time Felice's tiny bump had pointed its way towards Donna. Brandon had done so in the most recent time, dodging Felice's now rounded stomach that must have been into its second trimester.
Brenda had looked to be in her second trimester when she had married Monaghan; early second trimester, perhaps.
"Special? Not really," said Brandon. "Donna's still got a bunch of things to work out with the lawyers if she's serious about getting emancipated." He had been noticeably moody since Donna's departure from Casa Walsh, although he refused to admit it. "I told her I'd come along, see if I can't make heads or tails of it. Unless you wanna take this one, Jones?"
"We've covered the main bases," replied Dylan. "Not much more I can do from here. My choice for emancipation was easy, much easier than Donna's. Plus, Bren and I; we've got plans."
"We do?" Brenda paused in washing her breakfast dishes.
"Oh yeah we do." He set a tiny kiss to the top of her collarbone. "If you're gonna see the French Riviera on the back of my rental bike, we better start now."
"What is it with you and France?" asked Brandon.
"Bren's gonna see it," said Dylan. "It's something I just know she'll do and when she does, I want to be right there beside her, watching her take it all in. Your nieces and nephews are gonna speak perfect French, and it'll start with Bren's fluency in the language."
"Slow down there, honey," said Brenda. "I'm still trying to pass exams in introductory French."
"Lessons and exams only go so far," said Dylan. "Once you're there and we're immersed, conversing with the locals, ordering in the patisseries, walking along the Seine, you'll learn more French than even Madame Renaud can fit into the curriculum."
"Careful, McKay," said Brandon. "Bren gets too comfortable with the language, you might lose her to a Frenchman."
Dylan exchanged a glance with Brenda, unspoken communication passing between them of their latest vision; a follow-up to Brenda's seventeenth century dream.
It hadn't been a reunion; nor had it been a breakup. Neither could decipher its purpose and knew only that they had once been French.
At least, Brenda had been French. There hadn't been any indication of whether Dylan had, or if he had hailed from a nearby country.
"Then I'll just buy my way into French citizenship," said Dylan. "Warn the French guy off of my Bren without starting an international incident, in the interest of diplomacy."
"Keep talking about France and any plans you have for us today are gonna be cancelled in favor of me studying for my French test," Brenda warned him.
"The test you have in two weeks?"
"Never too early to start studying."
"Two weeks too early, babe. But okay, setting the français aside for now, I was thinking more of getting some practice in your español."
"You trying to turn Bren into a polyglot?"
"Brando, I can't see any Walsh showing up somewhere trying to speak English and expecting the locals to speak back in it."
"You're right," said Brandon. "Even Dad tried for French that time we went up to Montréal."
"Oh God," Brenda groaned, "don't get Brandon started on Montréal."
"What happened in Montréal?"
"Dylan!"
"Great question, McKay." Brandon slung his arm over Dylan's shoulder, holding both hands out palm forward. "Our boys had tied in overtime. The shootout had begun…"
Once Brandon wound down from his tangent that his team had only lost the hockey game due to a ref's bad call and stepped out to change out of his pajamas, Dylan's gaze became drawn to Brenda's eyes focused on a point outside the window.
"Bren?" He touched her shoulder.
"Ear infection," she said. "He has an ear infection."
"An ear infection?" asked Dylan.
"I'm worried, Dylan. I'm so worried. I've barely slept. He's been feverish and I'm - I'm scared."
Dylan set his hands against Brenda's cheeks and turned her to face him. "Is that why we can't connect? Do you need a full night's rest for me to see you?" His words toppled over each other in a giant gust of breath.
"Maybe. He is calmed, though; briefly, by the sound of the sea, and then his pains begin again."
Dylan didn't know who "he" was or why an ear infection was worrisome. What he did know was that his Brenda had found a way to contact him outside of their dreams, and it was his duty as the love of her lives to offer her reassurance.
"Baby, I can fully attest to the sea being calming, but a serious ear infection needs more help than that. Okay, all you need are antibiotics. They'll clear it right up. Or that New Age holistic medicine stuff Iris swears by. If you give me your address, maybe Iris can contact her future self to send you some."
"Antibiotics don't exist."
Dylan stood back as if someone had taken a blazing fire poker to his chest. "What?" he asked.
"What?" asked Brenda as she resumed washing their breakfast dishes.
"You just said antibiotics don't exist." Dylan attempted to rid himself of the irritation that his contact with the other Brenda had broken and instead be grateful for the Brenda standing beside him.
"Did I? Weird." Brenda scrubbed flour off of a mixing bowl. "Must've been thinking of one of the Past Mes."
"Must've." Dylan followed the movement of Brenda's hands. "Did you see anything to add to the book?"
"Not really. I saw a harp. It made the most beautiful music."
"It did?"
"Mhm, but there was no sound."
Dylan asked if there had been other objects of note related to time period or location. Brenda said there had been horses tied to a post, and bright green hills for as far as the eye could see.
Disappointed, Dylan decided she had seen nothing more than the past, Irish Brenda; the partner of the elusive past him. He would research when antibiotics were invented, either through perusing the books in the library or asking their chemistry teacher, and perhaps achieve an idea of when their Irish selves had been together.
He waited for Brenda to dress, impatiently tapping his foot and proclaiming Brenda Walsh time a longer duration than Irish time. Brenda asked if he had been there. Dylan said he had not, but Iris had, and a meeting thirty minutes after the initially arranged time was impressive unto itself. Brenda said her Irish roots must have created her personal clock. Dylan asked if she was purposely delaying their departure. Brenda inquired whether Dylan would share their planned itinerary. Dylan told her it would be the first of many surprises between them and that if she didn't already know, he took pleasure in surprising her.
That effectively stopped Brenda's protest that she hated surprises, though she did continue to grumble beneath her breath as Dylan prepared.
He would start her out slow; a shorter drive to a different location than he had originally planned, to build up to the real place he wanted to show her.
It would have to be a stop on the way to Baja.
"Is it safe?" Brenda meekly asked as she eyed the bike.
"If it wasn't, would your dad have driven one?" said Dylan.
Her face displayed her shock. "Dad drove a bike?"
"Maybe I wasn't supposed to tell you that. Keep it between us, okay?"
She nodded, but continued to stand on cemented feet.
"Baby, would I encourage you to do anything that wasn't safe?"
"You wouldn't, but you hear all these stories; and well, you have no problem with it, but you don't -"
"Have a fear of heights," Dylan realized. "You're petrified of us driving the cliff roads."
It had been a fear they had worked on tackling during their various travels across the European continent; a fear Brenda would need to learn to control again if she would be half as explorative as he knew her to be.
Moving her lower lip between her teeth, Brenda fiddled with her fingers in a rare show of her nerves.
"If you get scared, you can bury your face in my back," Dylan suggested. "I have no problem serving as your armor."
"That would imply I can't shield myself," said Brenda.
"Oh, there's no question that you can. If you don't want to ride the bike, just say so, as long as you don't use the homework excuse you used last time. I can go and get the Porsche."
Deeply exhaling, Brenda grasped either side of his waist and kicked her leg over the bike.
"You'll want this." Twisting around, Dylan withdrew a helmet from the pack strapped to the back of his bike. Placing it over her long hair, he fixed the chin strap and tilted his head to look over his handiwork. "Perfect."
Closing the visor on her helmet, Brenda tightened her grip on Dylan. "Let's go before I change my mind."
He stroked his fingers along her hands in hopes of easing her fret. "Just keep the helmet on, okay? Gotta keep my girl safe."
"Safe?" she gasped. "But you said!"
Her diatribe was drowned out by the roar of the wind as he navigated the bike down Hillcrest Drive and away from the monotony of Beverly Hills.
Her muffled screams turned into laughter, and then pure ecstasy when the ocean lay out beside them.
"Oh my God!" she repeated in a mantra.
He knew she'd appreciate the thrill of the ride, once she gave it a chance, though he did miss the feel of her tight hold when she loosened her grip.
They stopped at a lookout point about halfway into the journey. Dylan helped Brenda off of the bike, and gave her his famous dimples at the expression on her face.
"That was amazing," she gushed. "I'm gonna have to reject your offer of a ride from now on."
"What?" he asked. "Why?"
"Because when I have enough money saved up, I'm getting my own bike," she said matter-of-factly.
"I could buy you one, if it's something you're lookin' to get, but I'm also happy to play your chauffeur."
"You're not buying me a bike, Dylan."
"Can't buy you a car, can't buy you a bike. Your birthday's in two months. What can I get?"
"You're always saying how you want the world to see you as more than a trust fund kid. Boyfriends without trust funds don't buy cars and bikes."
"Boyfriend?" Dylan scooped her into his waist. "I've got the label back?"
"You're definitely getting there." Brenda leant the back of her head against his chest. "But I do like how we are now."
"I do, too. Who knew getting dumped can strengthen your relationship with your ex?"
"Probably the same people who see right through you."
"See right through me?" Dylan stilled. "See what?"
"What you and Emilio are doing," said Brenda. "You're working together to keep Kelly out of my path."
"Busted," Dylan said with a hint of a laugh. "Reina was close with Zosha and, like you said, he thinks Kelly was in on what happened to her. We agreed that an unofficial truce was needed to keep my girl out of harm's way. Kinda like how Brandon and Steve unofficially agreed to keep an eye on Donna."
"If my brother has one eye watching me and the other watching Donna and Val, he's gonna need someone to look out for him."
"Brenda, Zosha Blake's only form of communication is through her eyes. You've got the most expressive eyes of anyone I know, but we'd like for that to not be your only way of communication. And unless we find out for sure that Kelly didn't have anything to do with it, then please just be on your guard when she's around, please?"
"If it will help you worry less."
Dylan thanked her, and continued to take sanctuary in her arms as they embraced the mystique of a cliff road in Southern California's early autumn.
He asked Brenda if she felt assured enough to finish out the route and then laughed when she almost fell over in her jump onto what he would henceforth consider their bike.
"You're gonna have to pry this bike out of my ice-cold hands," she said.
"I'd rather not think about that, but I'll give you a ride whenever you want. Teach you to drive it, too, if that's something you think you'd be interested in."
"Seriously? I'd love that!"
She had indeed developed the insatiable craving for a ride.
If Brenda had believed their initial stop to be a place of wonder, she appeared nothing less than floored at their final stop.
"If we had a longer weekend with parental approval for an overnight stay," said Dylan, "I would've taken you somewhere else."
"This is great," said Brenda, her focus not on Dylan but rather on the water before them. It boasted a vivid cyan, mixing until cyan became various shades of green and ocean waves melded into grains of white sand. "Seriously, Dyl. It's stunning."
"My grandparents used to have a place down here," said Dylan. "I'd come every summer, when Jack was away with whatever woman he had talked into dating him at the time. It's not the best place in the state - I'll take you there eventually - and it's definitely no Europe, but -"
"But it's yours." Brenda flung her arms around his neck to kiss his cheek. "And now you've made it ours. Assuming -"
"No. I haven't taken anyone else here," he said in answer to her unasked question. "Ever."
His old life included.
As Brenda withdrew, Dylan's second and third fingers touched his lips. He slowly rubbed those fingers over her lips, to grant her his kiss in a way he knew would not be unwanted.
"I've waited so long to kiss these," he murmured in a moment of unguarded language.
"All summer?" asked a breathless Brenda. "Yeah, I guess that is a long time at our age."
"Right," said Dylan, returning to the present, "all summer."
"I was thinking maybe we give it 'til Halloween," she said. "I'll know by then if I got the part and how my schedule will be. Then we'll have more of an idea of how much time I'll have for you."
"I'll take any time you can give, even if all we can do is a quick ride around the block after dinner. I just want to spend time together. Doesn't matter how much. We know we've had centuries of it and don't know about you, but I'm planning on centuries more."
"Centuries and centuries," said Brenda. "Eons. Eras. Whichever."
"So Halloween it is," he smiled. "And if you need even more time than that, don't be afraid to ask." He planted one arm around her waist, once more drawing her in. "We gonna go with a couples' costume this year?"
"I thought it might be fun if we each choose a costume and see if it matches up. Like a planned, but also unplanned, couples' costume."
"Giving Fate a push, Bren?"
"We've got plenty of visions to choose a costume from."
"Alright. We'll do it your way."
He'd had his costume picked out for the last twenty-one years. With any luck, Brenda would figure out how to match him.
He told her the history of the original California surf town, nestled in SoCal's Orange County. They saw Catalina Island in the distance, walked through Dana Point Harbor, explored on the bike and explored further with bicycles. Dylan asked if Brenda wanted to rent surfboards to practice her growing surfing skills. Brenda said they could easily surf at home, and suggested paddleboarding instead. Dylan insisted on being the one to remain standing, whilst Brenda sat on the board. Time remained for kayaking around the harbor, and when that was done, they went for a swim in the ocean.
Winding down the day with a walk hand-in-hand throughout the town to see its public art, Dylan spotted the seafood restaurant that had been his grandfather's favorite. Brenda balked upon seeing the menu. Dylan said it was his treat and that Brenda couldn't leave without trying their mussels.
Dessert was purchased from a Mexican restaurant, where Dylan spoke his fluent Spanish and proudly looked on as Brenda attempted hers.
Full, satisfied, and perhaps a little burnt on Brenda's part, they returned to the bike.
"You don't have to wine and dine me, so to speak," said Brenda, "but you're right. That food was delicious."
"Bren, I respect your stance. I'm used to the finer things in life and it's not that I need them - because I don't - but sometimes, I'll want my girl to experience them, too. There's so many places I want to take you; places I've been, places I haven't. We're limited as to where we can go, but we won't always be. I might take you to the most expensive countries in the world. I might book us ridiculously expensive excursions. Besides, Granddad would've kicked my ass if we'd gone to Dana Point without dining in his favorite place."
"I'd have liked to have met him. Your Grandma, too."
"They would've both loved you. You would've been an instant granddaughter to them. They always hoped for one."
"Well, now that you've bought me uber expensive seafood, I'm gonna have to take you fishing. Show you how to cook a fish, Walsh-Beevis style. It's way less pressure on your wallet, and just as delicious."
"We can fish off of the Santa Monica Pier."
"I was thinking more like in Minnesota. You've shown me a Californian summer. It's time Brandon and I show you a Minnesotan winter. We're talking ice fishing. Snowshoeing. Fat biking. Our cousins will force you on my uncle's old snowmobile. We can even teach you to skate. Then we'll warm up with Grandma's famous Hot Dish. What do you think?"
"I think the McKay clan can do summers in California, winters in Minnesota, and spend the rest of the year traipsing Europe. I'd love to meet your family, Bren."
He didn't add that he already knew how to ice-skate after being taught by his old Brenda.
"You might regret that. They can be pretty intense."
"You've heard about my father, right?"
"It's a different kind of intense. It's the we're-way-closer-than-a-family-should-be-and-let's-spill-all-Brenda's-embarrassing-moments-to-the-first-guy-she's-brought-home intense."
"The first guy you'll bring home?" Dylan's ego admittedly swelled.
"Unless you count Jim Townsend," said Brenda, "and the whole family's known him since we were both finger-painting in diapers; or, more accurately, I finger-painted and Jimmy threw paint at paper. Well, more like at the walls."
"Jim Townsend? Wasn't he your first boyfriend?"
"No, that was Caleb Hanson. Jimmy was a good friend and we; well, we had a fling. A really short fling. He said he didn't do too well with the long-distance thing, but I think it was more about how we started."
"How was that?"
Brenda scuffed her shoes along the ground. "He was dating my best friend, Marjorie Miller. Jimmy and I, we got a little too caught up in Seven Minutes in Heaven."
"Oh God," said Dylan. "Seven Minutes in Heaven. I used to call the nanny to pick me up every time that started."
"The player didn't want to play?"
"Not that game. But hey, if you wanna sneak into one of our closets for seven minutes of our own, I won't complain."
"I told Kelly about that," said Brenda quietly.
"Told Kelly what?"
"About making out with Marjorie's boyfriend. That's when she told me how she had asked you out, because she figured that made her action more understandable or maybe relatable."
"How old were you when you did that?"
"Fifteen."
"Kelly was sixteen. I'm guessing Jimmy boy wanted the kiss?"
"Yeah, but -"
"But nothing. It's not the same. Kelly knew I would've turned her down flat, and she still told you. She knew we'd never flirted, and yet told you that we did. I'm not saying what you and Jim did was okay, just different. The situations aren't comparable."
He wondered if Kelly had used that knowledge to justify the role she had played in their cheating on Brenda.
"Would you still be okay with Kelly if she and I hadn't fought?" asked Brenda.
"Bren, Kelly and I haven't been okay since I found out the lies she told you at your sleepover. I've only been tolerating her for your sake and now that that's over, there's no reason either of us ever have to see her outside of school."
"Woman's conference. I just wish it hadn't ended like this," said Brenda with a deep sigh. "Kelly's convinced herself that I'm perfect, my family's perfect, Donna's perfect, Donna's family is perfect, and I guess she thinks perfect people need to be brought down a notch or five. But I'm not perfect, Dylan. Neither is my family. I tried to tell her that."
"You're pretty damn close," he said, "the closest thing I know to perfect. Let Kelly be jealous; about you, about what we have. Because what we have, Bren; it's far beyond kissing games gone too far and blondes who hoped for a shot with West Bev's most wanted. This: you, me; it started long before either of us ever knew a Kelly Taylor, and we aren't gonna let her wreck what our past selves have made tradition. We aren't gonna let her make you another Zosha, either." He glanced at the sky. "Should we head back? We can stay to catch the sunset, but dunno how you feel about riding home in the dark."
"More trusting than I was before you got me on the bike," said Brenda, adding that she would like to watch the sunset with him.
"If we're gonna see the sunset, we're gonna do it right," he said.
Fifteen minutes, one short bike ride, and a rocky downhill climb later that resulted in Dylan persuading Brenda onto his back, they watched the sun sink into the ocean through their view in a sea cave.
Their own sea cave, one separate from the touristy Dana Point Sea Caves.
He warned her they could not stay long - high tide would be coming in and the caves were treacherous during high tide. Brenda understood and, after examining the abundance of rocks in the cave, they made it back to solid ground with time to spare.
As they neared Anaheim, an accident on the freeway derailed the journey home. Dylan shut off the bike ignition whilst they waited. Brenda suggested they take advantage of the situation to pull into the nearby Anaheim Hills, where they caught the Fantasy in the Sky fireworks show from Disneyland. Colors on various ends of the spectrum sprinted through Brenda's eyes. Her hair had become ruffled by the wind, giving Brenda an extra volume to her already voluminous hair. Her cheeks were lined with pink from their ride.
Dylan decided he had never encountered anyone more enamoring, and told her as much.
"I love you," said Brenda, enveloping him in her arms. "Just you. You could be more penniless than Melville and I would still want you. I don't need all this fancy stuff. I do love our explorations, but if you want to do it outside of five-star hotels and fine dining, I'm game."
"I know you are and I love you for it."
"Not that I don't also appreciate that you want to spoil me."
"I'd spoil you with an overnight stay in the fanciest, schmanziest hotel around, but we oughta get back. And I have a different place in mind for our first overnighter."
"Let me guess. It's another surprise?"
"Correcta-mundo. I foresee a lot of surprises in your future, babe. You'll get in practice with your French, your Spanish, and learn a whole bunch of other languages most people have never even heard of. Like Romansh."
"Romansh?"
"It's one of the languages of Switzerland."
"Well, I probably won't be learning Romansh anytime soon, but today was exactly the kind of distraction I needed. Thank you."
"Next time you want to escape reality for a few hours, just let me know. Be it by bike, by board, by plane."
"You're not renting a private plane."
"Just an idea. Maybe in the future."
"Not even in the future," said Brenda.
Aware that the Monaghans had been in possession of their own plane, Dylan brought up the possibility of bringing one into their future family. Brenda said if he insisted, their family could fly first class, on occasion. Dylan asked about Brenda's eventual need for one of their own. Brenda said if she developed a level of fame to that extent, they would discuss it then.
They made it back to Casa Walsh just in time for curfew, though Brandon did jokingly point out that they had cut it close. Holding onto Brenda, Dylan greeted Steve and Donna and, to his surprise, David. When the others left, Brandon told his siblings that David had dropped by hoping for an update on Val.
Brenda wondered if David would be crushed when Valerie inevitably turned him down. She had a type, said Brenda, and Valerie rarely strayed from her type.
Brandon wondered if Valerie would make an exception and in fact hoped for it, as he had been none too fond of her last tattooed boyfriend.
Brenda decided Val might prefer to remain single for the time being as she dealt with her present situation.
Dylan asked Brandon if there had indeed been an update. Brandon said their parents had called to say they would be attending Albany family court the following morning. Brenda asked if Brandon had mentioned her idea of moving in with Donna to make more room for the Malones. Brandon said he had also asked about moving in with Steve. Jim had said absolutely not and that he was in discussion with his company to see about getting a bigger house.
Dylan wondered how life would be without Casa Walsh. Reluctantly returning home after his usual evening embrace with Brenda, he left a voicemail on Jim's phone to suggest that perhaps there could be an expansion done on the house to accommodate everyone.
He then offered to pay for the expansion.
Jim called him back within minutes, thanked Dylan for his offer, and said they would figure it out without accepting Dylan's money. Jim asked how his children were doing, and then answered Dylan about Valerie's current state of mind.
"She won't talk to us," said Jim. "There has never been a time in her life when Valerie didn't talk to us. Dylan, do you think you and Brenda could get Valerie to open up somewhat when we bring her home? Perhaps suggest to her to attend therapy? Valerie might consider the idea more if it comes from one of her peers."
"So she is coming home?" asked Dylan.
"That's still the plan," said Jim. "Just have to get through all the red tape first and jump through however many hoops."
Hanging up, Dylan checked with his father's lawyers to see about the possibility of speeding up the custody case. They had contacts in the Albany courts, and told Dylan that they would look into it.
Worried over Val, yet sublimely ecstatic over his day with Brenda, Dylan crawled into his bed and fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.
"Am I correct in presuming you are Dylan?" said a voice in the dark corridor. "Dylan Michael McKay, the later-twentieth century version of myself?"
"That's correct," said Dylan, seeing the shape come into view. "And you would be?"
"I am Sir Dylan of the Clan Mackay," said the man donned in heavy, gleaming armor, "and it is you I hold solely responsible for the loss of myne owne hertis rote."
The corridor faded around them until they stood in a courtyard, surrounded by a large crowd that appeared to be courtiers in ancient dress.
"Where am I?" asked Dylan.
"You do not recognize it?" asked Sir Dylan as he removed his helmet to shake out his shaggy hair.
Dylan glanced around for a point of familiarity, and felt the shock slide upon his face when he found it.
"London," said Dylan, awestruck.
"The London of my lif-time," said Sir Dylan. "If shaltow be the Dylan amongst us who defeats Anteros for the final time, you need konne of the extent our great foe will go to separate us Dylans from our Brendas. Al be that if you are to konne the reason, you will need to bridge contact with our frẹ̄nd in olde Greece. No Dylan has ever finden success in that."
The failure of the other Dylans to contact the Dylan of ancient Greece hardly unnerved the Dylan of Beverly Hills. It had, after all, been that Dylan who had been involved in the start of their era-long battle with Anteros.
Dylan McKay would not stop until he had spoken with that version of himself to figure out what the fuck had transpired to bring them all to their current point.
"The extent?" asked Dylan. "I was told the end of your relationship with your Brenda was pretty brutal. Sorry for fucking that up for you, for all of you. I thought fucking it up with my Bren was bad enough. Didn't know it would have this much of an impact. But I'm trying to fix it, I swear."
"A-wei, it was not at all praty," said Sir Dylan.
"No, I mean," began Dylan, but he stopped himself from explanation when he saw pain dart into Sir Dylan's features.
Sir Dylan, henceforth mentally referred to by Dylan as simply Mackay, pointed across the twisting lane. He informed Dylan that was where the Brenda of Mackay's lifetime presently resided.
A place Dylan knew well, having visited its opulent rooms with his Brenda for her birthday during their own time in London.
The Tower of London, sans its usual queue of tourists.
"Do not worry," said Mackay. Eyeing Dylan's lack of clothing, he gestured for a servant. "I will have you home in time for your mid-morewe bread and the ride of eche dayes with your Brenda. Now, anon! We must find for you mo suitable attire if you are going to be in the presence of a princess."
-x
Thank you for the well-wishes. It was a lovely holiday and birthday.
Middle Ages glossary - myne owne hertis rote: my own heart's root shaltow: you shall konne: learn/know frẹ̄nd: friend finden: find/found A-wei: alas praty: pretty morewe: morning eche dayes: daily anon: at once mo: more as found in: the website entitled A Clerk of Oxford; A Concise Dictionary of Middle English by A.L. Mayhew and Walter W. Skeat on the website for the Universität Innsbruck; "100 most frequent Middle English words" on the website for California State University, Stanislaus; the Middle English Compendium on the website for the University of Michigan.
As always, thanks a million for the readership, reviews, follows, favourites, alerts, discourse, plot ideas, etc. Stay healthy and safe out there. x