Authors Note: I own nothing. No ownership rights to Beverly Hills 90210. None to Forgiveness written by Sarah McLachlan and Marchand Pierre.

Chapter Seven: Forgiveness

I had hidden in the studio all of Sunday working on two new songs, both would be sent to the label. My duet with Ray had left me emotionally exhausted, mainly as I had tried to write half the song from Dylan's perspective. It was a struggle. Last night in the carpark he had been so angry at me for leaving him, it was an irrational response as he had left me first. The moment he touched her he left me, he left us, but yet he was mad at me. He blamed me for not hearing him out. It was a bizarre and confusing logic, that even after I had tried to write it down in my notebook and construct a song, I was still unable to follow.

If I was being honest it had left me concerned for Dylan, he wasn't making sense. His behaviour, emotions and words had all been off, and they had been for longer than I wanted to admit. He looked unhealthy, like he wasn't sleeping and his Dylan confidence and calm was no longer there. It made me think that my Dad's explanation had merit. It wasn't good for anyone to be in that state, let alone a recovering addict.

Coming home I had taken an afternoon bath to help calm down, and then had made my way downstairs for a peppermint tea. Iris would be proud. Mum was just finishing putting her famous lasagne in the oven, and decided to join me for a cup. She caught me up on her day, and I then shared mine. As usual she wanted to hear about my new songs, so I described the fun dance number and then tried to articulate the duet. By the end of it I was dumping it all on her. My confusion, anger, sadness, and my growing fear. In the midst of it all Dad joined us.

I had to give him props, Dylan wasn't his favourite person but he pushed his anger at the pain he caused me aside and was genuinely concerned. By the end of our discussion my parents were convinced they should check on him, and asked my blessing to do so. I readily agreed. As they went to get themselves ready to leave I took the lasagne out. It was his favourite, and on impulse I grabbed a container and cut him a piece and then bagged up some salad. As they came back through the kitchen I handed them Dylan's dinner. "He loves your food Mum, and if he isn't in the mood to talk this may breakdown some of his walls." Mum gave me an understanding smile and followed my Dad to the car.

The wait had been excruciating and seemed to drag on for hours, when it actual fact it had only been just over an hour before my Mum returned. On seeing her walk in alone, I knew my fear was grounded in reality. Something was wrong with him. "Is he drinking?"

She moves to sit in the stool next to me at the kitchen bench, then takes my hand. "No, I don't think so, but something's not right. His house is a mess". I interrupt her before she can finish her sentence.

"Mum he grew up with house cleaners and hotel turndown service. With Dylan's lack of domestic skills his house being unkept is not a big indicator. I swear most of the time he only tidied it for me, and as for actual cleaning products being used, well I'm not sure he knows what they do. They are only there because of me."

Bless Mum she had sat through my rambling without interruption, obviously understanding that my nerves were getting the best of me. "Well he seemed embarrassed by the state of it and apologised. But apart from that, he wasn't able to concentrate too long on any one conversation and he kept getting emotional. He ranted at your father, broke down about you, and begged us to keep you away from Paul. Finally, we persuaded him to eat something and to take a shower. That's when I left to come back here. Your Dad and I spoke before I left, we think Iris should be called, and until she gets here we don't think he should be alone..."

Finishing off her point. "You came home to ask if he could stay here." Lifting my hand from hers I run it through my hair, buying time before I have to provide an answer. "Okay." Getting restless I rise from my chair and move into the kitchen. "Have you asked him?"

"No we wanted to wait to talk to you. Jim was going to tell him I had just gone to the store, I should head back now if you are okay with it."

"Would you mind if I went over?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, if I could follow you in your car that would be good. I'd like to speak to Dylan alone before he comes to stay here."

"We should go then." I nod my head and grab her keys and my wallet.

Parking outside of Dylan's, I walk over to my Dad's car just as Mum is about to step out. "Do you mind if I do this alone? You guys can head home and have a late dinner. We won't be too long behind you."

"Of course honey, just send your Dad out." I give her a thankful look and then move up the path. Giving myself one last pep talk I move up the stairs and see Dad sitting at the dining table with his back to the door. Dylan is talking to him, but stops suddenly and looks up. He stares with a look of disbelief like I'm a mirage. I point to the handle as a silent request to come in. He nods his head and begins to stand. As I make my way in my Dad also gets up.

"Honey?"

Without breaking eye contact with Dylan, I respond to my Dad's unasked question. "Mum's waiting in the car. Would you mind letting Dylan and I talk a bit? We won't be too far behind you."

Walking over to me he rubs my shoulder. "Call if you need us."

Breaking my eye contact I turn and give my Dad a reassuring look. "I will."

Once he leaves we stand for a few minutes and just look at the other. Dylan is the first to break the silence. "I'm surprised Jim left without question."

"We have a better understanding now. He trusts my judgment."

Shaking his head and getting on the defensive. "Yeah because I'm not around."

"No, because I've worked hard to prove to my parents that I'm responsible." Not wanting to keep elaborating on how I did that, I look around. Mum was right it was messier than normal.

Dylan wanting my attention back on him and not on his house, moves closer. "If I knew you were coming home I would have tidied up."

"Dylan I stayed here for less than a week, I'm not sure if that was long enough to call it home."

"Bren you know this place as well as I do, hell you chose most of the linens, and even if you didn't, wherever I am you will always have a home there."

Moving away I walk over to the armchair and pick the magazines up off it and sit down. Looking at my joined hands I start. "You aren't doing okay."

As he walks over to stand by the couch his pride bites out, "Is that a question or a statement?"

Lifting my head to meet his eyes. "An observation."

His pride and defences are active but I ignore it. From our first date I knew how to get through Dylan's bravado. "Well you see my girlfriend left me, refused to talk to me and then last night I see her smothered by another guys arms. Are you seeing him?"

"I'm not seeing Paul- he's a good friend but we aren't like that." Keeping his eyes on mine, I need to see his face as it will tell me how accurate my next words are. "You haven't been okay since my return from Paris, before that even. You weren't okay this summer before I left, even when we went to Baja. Nor the weeks before that. The last time I think you were actually okay was just before the holdup." The last one hit its mark, I was waiting for one of them too. The look of panic that flashed through his eyes was enough to tell me something had happened around then.

As a great avoider and someone who hated showing weakness he bit back. "I'd be fine if my girlfriend would talk to me so we could work this out."

Ignoring his statement I went on. "What happened around the holdup? Did you have a drink, did something happen with your Dad… was there another girl?" Even through the wall I had thrown around my heart, I could feel the echoes of pain and fear the last one caused. I ignored it, he wasn't okay, and he was the priority here not me.

My words make him erratic. "Bren there was no other girl only you!" Lifting my eyebrow at him I wait. "Kelly was it, she was a mistake. It meant nothing, we were hanging out- I missed you, I needed you… it happened but it wasn't… it wasn't real. You know her she's never real with guys. It was… I needed something… I was in a bad way… if you came home and I was drinking your Dad would have never allowed me to see you, you wouldn't have allowed it either, so I needed an escape, a distraction. It wasn't anything… it wasn't supposed to happen… it didn't mean anything. You're my girl, the only one I want!"

He had broken our eye contact through his rant, grabbing his hair as he paced around the couch. He had ended his confusing jumble of words kneeling by the armchair and grabbing hold of my hands. I had begun to squeeze them tight to distract me from the pain his words were causing. "Baby, please you have to believe me, it wasn't important. It meant nothing."

Quietly I responded. "It was important to me. It meant something to me. It destroyed me."

"Baby, I'm sorry. It wasn't supposed to do anything like that, you weren't… it was forgotten by me, she just couldn't let it go."

Taking my hands out of his grasp I lean back in the chair, trying to get some physical distance away from him. I don't want to be near him when he talks of her. "Dylan, I don't want to talk about her. I don't want to talk about this summer." Taking a deep breath. "What happened around the holdup? Did you drink?"

Sitting back on his heels he looks defeated. "No I haven't had a drink. Not since your porch when you said you couldn't see me if I was drinking… I never had another. I can't lose you, I couldn't, and I know drinking is your limit. You won't accept it."

Trying to encourage more honesty, more of the vulnerability Dylan naturally shies away from, I lean forward. "So if it wasn't drinking or a girl, what happened?"

He looks down like this is costing him all his strength, and sadly I know it is. Dylan holds his pain close, pain from his mum's abandonment. From his dad's rejection, indifference, his verbal abuse. He holds trauma from whatever a child experiences, sees when they turn to drug's and alcohol in the clubs of L.A. He has been through so much in his eighteen years that his pain is held tight by him. His avoidance of it allows him to keep going. It's unhealthy and it was why he was so detached from everything when we moved here. Throughout our relationship, even from the first night, he has chipped away at some of the edges of that pain, shared it with me. It's a privilege not even granted to Brandon. It's a trust so pure, as it leaves him so exposed. He grants me access to his pain.

"You could have left me- I would be alone again."

Not understanding I move closer to the edge of the chair, hoping to keep him open. "When? For Tim, the cardio funk guy?"

He looks up at that and with a quirk of his lip, granting the closest thing to a smile he can. "Bren they don't mean anything. Him, the Paris guy, Sarah or her. Don't get me wrong each one of them hurts." He smiles at me and tries to add some lightness. "So Baby we should probably stop doing that to each other. No more okay?" Pausing he starts up again in a more serious tone. "But they mean nothing. True love, soulmates- whatever you want to call it, that doesn't stop, it doesn't break."

He sits back up on his knees so there is barely a few inches between us. He lifts his hand up and cups my cheek. "Standing by my locker in sophomore year, we made eye contact, and from that moment on, we were it. In that moment I found my home. Though, me being the dick I am, I tried to ignore it, and you being the brave one, ran straight at it with an interesting hair dye."

At the reminder of my failed attempt of going blonde in hopes of getting his attention, I jokingly hit his shoulder in embarrassment. "We made a deal that we wouldn't mention that hair."

Moving his hand to my hair and resting the other by my hip. "Baby, I made no such deal. I wouldn't, it's a story I'm going to tell our grandkids." He stops and breathes in, as if he savouring our closeness, drawing strength from our connection.

"Tell me when I was going to leave you."

He holds my hip a little tighter. "He could of shot you that night."

Lifting my hand I skim my finger over his cheek. It's the first affectionate touch I've instigated since I saw them. He closes his eyes at the contact. "Dylan he didn't, I'm fine."

With his eyes still closed he whispers. "I see it, at night when I try to sleep." My eyes automatically focus on the dark circles and my finger soothingly caresses one.

"When was the last time you slept a full night?"

"Baja." He stops as if deciding how much he should say. "You were there in my arms, and I knew you were safe."

Confused, I'd stayed here for nearly a week at the start of summer. "You didn't sleep the nights when I stayed here?"

He opens his eyes finally. "No Baby, I had to get up and check that you were safe in my room, and then another nightmare started. You and your family never coming to L.A."

Shit, those were my words, my thoughts from sitting in my Father's chair. "I told you though that I'm glad we came. That I couldn't give us up."

"I wasn't afraid you would again, but Jim… he could take you away. I mean he did, he sent you to Paris."

"You wanted me to go though, you told me to."

"I was convinced… and I wasn't doing well, I thought I'd use that time away to get better. It made it worse though." I instantly stop touching him. Yes his actions made it worse for everyone.

"Convinced?"

Leaning his forehead against mine, "That's between Jim and I… Baby- it's our issues. But being away the distance didn't, hasn't helped, it makes me off balance."

I'm quiet for a few minutes thinking. In my silence Dylan moves closer. "I need you."

His words help me make sense of all the emotions and thoughts running through me. This isn't healthy. I need to find a way to physically untangle us, so I can try and figure out how to emotionally untangle him.

"Dylan, this isn't good. I don't want you to feel this way." He pulls his head back and looks at me with hurt and disbelief. Trying to make it right I continue. "You need to be able to sleep, you need to not be fearful that I'll…"

Cutting me off he adamantly states. "Well if you came back I wouldn't have to worry."

Trying to reason with him I buy into his pretend fix. "So I come back, we are together again. Then what? I never leave, do I move in so you can sleep, allow your fear to rule our lives? Dylan even you know that wasn't working before. You were getting frustrated and snappy even before I… I knew. You don't want to live like this."

"I was snapping because I hadn't told you. Now you know, you understand what's going on. Baby it will be better now."

I try again to reason with him. "Have you told Ben?"

He once again sits back on his heels and then looks down. "No."

"Dylan why is that?"

"He won't understand…"

"No he would. I bet if you told him your grand plan, he'll even tell you that it sounds like you are trying to be a functioning addict, and that you want to make me into your enabler."

He bites back. "Or we could just be two people hopelessly in love." He stands up and resumes his pacing. "So what you're going to leave me again? Runaway, abandon me like you always do? You've had plenty of practice. Your garden, at the beach, in my bed- that one was quite charming, hell you did it twice in Palm Springs; you are just like my parents always trying to get away from me. Tell me, what's so bad about me that the people I love have to leave me?"

I stand up, I need to get him to calm down. "Dylan" he continues to pace. "Baby!" He stops and looks at me but doesn't move closer. "You need help, something about the holdup has triggered something in you. It's not okay. I don't like seeing you like this." Moving closer to him I pick up his hand. "We need to get this sorted. My parents want you to come stay with us. I want you to come stay. Let's get you a couple of nights of good sleep, and then we can discuss this."

He looks relieved. "You want me to stay with you?"

"Yes." I'd tell him later when he was calmer about my parents plan to call Iris. He needed sleep first.

Afraid I'll change my mind he quickly agrees and moves to his room to pack. Not wanting to think I distract myself, tiding up the living room, and then collecting his dinner plate from the dining table. A few minutes later having been lost in the mindless task of washing the dishes, I feel him. Turning around I see him leaning against the wall with a smile on his face. "I see your OCD is still going strong Baby." He moves from the wall to come closer. "You didn't need to tidy up. Thank you though."

I turn back around to finish off the remaining dishes. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes. You sure your parents are okay with this?"

Emptying the sink I turn around, and nod my head. "Let's go."

We pull into our driveway a few minutes later. I park next to Brandon's car under the basketball hoop. It must have been quiet at The Pit for him to be home so early. The family is sitting around the kitchen table eating ice-cream. Mum gets up as we walk in. Smiling she looks at us both. "Can I get you guys some ice-cream?"

I shake my head, my stomach is in knots. The last 24 hours has been a crazy whirlwind and I'm not sure I could stomach food. "None for me Mum, I think I'll have some camomile tea instead." Dylan agrees to a bowl and as I move into the kitchen to put on the kettle my Dad hands me a phone message. It's from the Director the label and I hired to make my next video clip, the song I wrote after my birthday. It was supposed to be filmed this week and therefore wasn't a message I could ignore. "Dad can I use your office phone?"

"Of course."

An hour later I make my way out of the study that's off my parents room. My Dad looks up from his book. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah it sounds like we'll be shooting through the night Tuesday. How did it go downstairs once I left?"

Mum responds, "He was alot calmer than he was at his house, though he kept checking the stairs waiting for you to return and asked a couple of times if he should bring you up a tea. He's in Brandon's room now setting up the bed."

"Thanks, I should head to bed myself. Have you spoken to Iris?"

"No we left a message on her machine. Until she arrives, as his Conservator I think it best that he stay's here- even if he seems more in control now."

Giving my parents a resigned expression. "He's not in control and from what I learnt tonight it's been six months since he was." Noticing their concerned look I rush to soothe their worry. "He's not a danger to himself or us, he just needs to deal with somethings he's been avoiding." I don't want to say more, Dylan is a fiercely private person. What he discloses to me is for me alone to know, but hopefully I can encourage him to reach out to Ben as well.

Their respect for me is evident as neither asks for more information. After they both offer me their support, I give them both a kiss goodnight. As I make my way to the door I hesitate and turn around. "He's been having nightmares for a long time and hasn't slept a full night in months. I'm going to leave my door ajar tonight, but…"

My parents look at each other in a silent discussion, they know what I don't want to ask. My Dad breathes out resigned. "Door open and he stays on top of the sheets. He's in Brandon's room unless you think he absolutely needs to be in there."

My Mum adds, "Brenda are you sure you can do this?"

"We aren't getting back together. I don't trust him, but he's right about one thing. Our connection won't die, it won't sever and his betrayal hasn't even weakened it. Only time will tell if it will fade but until then I need to help him." Leaving my parents bedroom, I move to Brandon's and wish them both a goodnight.

A couple of hours later I'm laying in bed writing a song in my notebook. It's helping me make sense of what I'm feeling. There's a knock and then the bathroom door opens. He's covered in sweat and his eyes are wild. Without saying a word I move over to the other side of the bed. I pat the top of the quilt and as he makes his way to the bed I stop him. "Grab the blanket off the window seat." He does as I ask and then lays down on top of the quilt. I help cover him with the blanket. From his position on the opposite pillow he stares at me.

Quietly as not to wake the house he asks. "What are you writing?"

"Just some thoughts. We should get some sleep."

As I lean over to turn off the light I place my notebook on the bedside table. Switching off the light I turn to face away from him. A few seconds go by, and then I feel his arm snake around me. At his actions the words I just wrote run through my mind. He's asking too much.