A/N: Okay, now that everyone knows about Brenda's illness and we're getting into the treatment period, this is going to start moving more quickly, 'cause, quite frankly, the angst is kind of killing me to write :D. We'll also start getting into story lines for other characters – Val comes back next chapter, for example, and Donna and Ray are heading for turbulent times. I'm not quite sure what to do with David, Claire, Andrea and Steve; I know where I want them all to end up, but I'm not sure how to get them there. We'll see.

Anyway, this chapter is for Nikkycoly, who wanted to see Brenda and Dylan cry and hold each other.

Part Seven

As the nurse wheeled her back into her room after her first surgery, Brenda felt her eyes well up with happy tears for the first time in months.

The room was covered with flowers, balloons, boxes of chocolates, stacks of books and magazines, and about a dozen stuffed animals littered the bed, including Mr. Pony, although as far as she could tell everything else was new. On one night table by the bed, her treasured copies of the Complete Works of Shakespeare and the Complete Works of Oscar Wilde stood proud, on the other side, the table was littered with programs from plays she'd attended or starred in, going back as far as elementary school. The walls were taped with photographs, including several of Brenda on stage, some from last semester that Brenda hadn't known her parents had – and didn't know how they could have accessed them, and on one wall a mirror was hanging, with lights on either side of it, clearly intended to look like a backstage dressing room mirror.

And to top it all off, the room was filled with the people she loved. Kelly, Donna, Andrea and Steve sat on the room's second bed, which hadn't been occupied since she entered the room. Brandon and Dylan were both leaning against the wall facing her bed, and her parents were seated in the two chairs at the head of her bed.

"Oh my God," she whispered, one hand wiping the tears away from her face. "You guys, what did you do?"

"Do you like it?" Donna asked, hopping off the bed. "When we found out that Dr. Greenfeld couldn't see you until tomorrow, we wanted to make sure the room was comfortable for you tonight."

"Well, technically, you aren't supposed to tape anything to the walls," the nurse said from behind Brenda, smiling a little. "But seeing as Brenda doesn't have a roommate at the moment, I'll overlook this; although I am going to have to know what happened to the painting that was hanging where the mirror is."

"It's right here," Steve reached behind the bed he'd been sitting on and pulled out a boring oil painting of a can of wildflowers.

"Alright," the nurse helped Brenda out of the wheelchair, still smiling. "I'll be back to check on you soon."

"I'll save you a chocolate," Brenda smiled back, walking around the room to look at all the pictures. She burst out laughing when she saw the old picture of herself, Kelly, Dylan and the surfboard, taped back together before it was taped to the wall.

"I did that," Kelly sounded a little nervous as she walked over to stand behind Brenda. "I thought it could symbolize a fresh start. Is that okay?"

"I love it," Brenda answered, hugging Kelly quickly. "Really, guys, I love all of it."

"Nat's on his way over with dinner, too," Donna said, coming to stand at Brenda's other side. "So you don't have to eat hospital food."

"And we brought movies," Andrea waved a few VHS tapes in the air.

"So you're into videotape huh?"

Brenda smiled at the memory, and looking slyly over at Brenda, she saw him smiling, too, though she couldn't be sure he was smiling for the same reason.

"Thank you guys," she said to the room, turning to face all of her friends one by one, noting that David was still nowhere to be seen. "This is perfect."

"Did someone order megaburgers?" a familiar voice called through the door. A hand appeared, holding Peach Pit take out bags, and then Nat walked into the room. "Plus one veggie megaburger for our Laverne."

Blushing, Brenda laughed and thanked him, touched that he'd remembered her decision to stop eating meat. It had been difficult to keep it up in England, but here, in Los Angeles, she had been trying to keep vegetarian as much as she could.

"Plus, I brought a picture for the wall," Nat added, pulling a picture out of his pocket and holding it up. It was a snapshot of Brenda, pink uniform and all, lip synching, with Donna and Kelly dancing behind her. Brenda groaned playfully, but inside she was beaming that Nat had not only taken a picture of her playing Laverne, but also kept it so long.

"Ooooh, give me that," Donna took the photo from his hands and grabbed a roll of tape from the spare bed, taping the photo of Laverne up on the wall with the other photos. "There, perfect."

It really is.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Brenda looked at her parents, seated at either side of her bed, in chairs that didn't look like they could be anything close to comfortable, although she knew both Mr. and Mrs. Walsh planned to spend the night in them. Brandon was sitting in a third chair that had materialized from seemingly out of nowhere, next to her father. The rest of their friends had drifted out, Donna leaving first to placate Ray for canceling plans with him, then Andrea leaving to save Jesse's mom from Hannah duty, then Steve, and finally Kelly. Now it was long past visiting hours, and only family was technically supposed to be in the room. Somehow, Dylan had convinced the nurses and her parents that he should be allowed to stay. Brenda wasn't quite sure how he'd managed that, but she was glad to see him still there, leaning against the wall near the foot of her bed.

"Mom, Dad," her eyes never left Dylan's as she spoke. "Could I have a minute alone with Dylan?"

She saw her parents exchange nervous glances and could almost hear their private dialogue. 'Is it worth it to fight her on this? How much damage can be done in a few minutes in a hospital room? Is there any way we can win this one?' Of course, the answer to both the first and last questions was no. Brenda wasn't quite sure about the second question.

"Brenda, you should be sleeping," Cindy spoke hesitantly.

"I can't sleep with you all hovering, anyway," Brenda argued firmly. "Please. Just a few minutes."

"Alright," Jim said, although she could see he spoke reluctantly. "A few minutes. We'll be right outside."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dylan watched the Walshes slowly file out of the room, catching the warning glances both Jim and Brandon shot him as they left. Finally, the door was closed behind them, and Dylan moved closer to the bed, sinking into the seat Jim had vacated. He reached out to take one of Brenda's hands in both of his. She reached out with her other hand and ran her fingers across his face.

"Hi," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion and unshed tears.

"Hi."

They didn't speak for a few moments, both worried that anything they said might sound too much like a goodbye neither one of them was prepared to say. Her fingers continued to dance over his face, stroking his brows, his nose, his cheeks, his chin, his lips. Finally he summoned the courage to ask her what she was doing.

"Memorizing you," she answered, still speaking at a whisper level. "In case something goes wrong tomorrow. I want to remember your face. I want to remember you…"

"None of that," he ordered, moving his face out of reach of her hand. "There's no need. Nothing will go wrong tomorrow."

"But if it does," she dropped her hand, but didn't drop the subject. "If it does I need to say…"

"Brenda, nothing will go wrong. You've got the best brain surgeon in Los Angeles. Dr. Dana is a breast cancer specialist. You are going to be fine."

"You don't know that," Brenda shook her head, and Dylan lifted a hand to wipe away the few tears that escaped her eyes. "You can't know that, Dylan."

There was another pause before Brenda spoke again.

"And just in case, I need you to know," she stopped trying to hold back the tears, and Dylan stopped trying to wipe them away, letting his hand rub her shoulder instead. "I need you to know how much I…"

"I know," he whispered, kissing her forehead. "Brenda, I know."

"I don't think you do."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Dylan," she began, uncertain how to explain everything she needed him to know, "when I look at you…"

How could she tell him, how could she make everything she felt clear to him? Especially given that she couldn't even seem to figure it out herself? She'd pushed him away just a few nights ago, and now all she wanted was to hold him close to her, as close as she could, to spend the rest of the time between now and the surgery kissing him, crying with him, loving him.

She wanted to make love to him again, although she knew that would be impossible, given the hospital bed, not to mention the nurses, her parents and her brother all checking in repeatedly throughout the night.

"When I look at you," she began again, "I see this amazing man, this man who's been through so much, and who feels so much, and this summer, when everything started to go wrong, I felt like that man was going to waste."

"Brenda…"

"Let me finish," she insisted, hearing the ferocity in her own voice, and shying away from it. He always made her feel so much, all at once. It terrified her. "Dylan, you have so much good in you, and it kills me that you don't see that. It kills me that you don't understand how intelligent you are…"

"I'm not…"

"You are. Who the Hell quotes Byron at sixteen? What eighteen year old spends the summer in Europe thinking about Rambeau, Baudelaire and Balzac?"

"So I'm well read…" he shrugged, looking embarrassed and doubtful.

"It's more than that," she shook her head. Her hand reached up of its own accord to stroke his face again. "A lot more than that. You're an amazing writer, and you're so strong. I don't know anyone else who could go through what you've been through and survive it."

"You could."

"I hope so," Brenda sighed. "The truth is you've always seemed like the oldest soul I know. You are extraordinary, Dylan McKay. And I need to know that you know that."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Without thinking, without even considering the other night, or any of their problems, he leaned forward and kissed her, the passionate, desperate kiss he'd been longing to give her since… since the last time he'd kissed her. It was only when he felt relief to find her kissing him back that he even remembered they weren't together.

"Bren," he whispered when they pulled away for air. His forehead still touched hers, and her hand was still laced in his hair. "What you said the other night… about us… that you couldn't even be my friend…"

"I didn't mean it," her fingers toyed with his hair almost roughly, but he didn't feel any pain. "I just need time, Dylan. I need you to be the guy you were last year. The guy that I can always count on, the guy I can always turn to. I need you to show me that you're the man I fell in love with."

Brenda looked down, away from him, for the first time since her parents had left the room.

"But there is a chance for us?"

"There always has been," she answered with a hesitant smile.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~