He'd begun making lists.
He didn't make lists. The Walshes made lists. He'd teased them mercilessly about it more times than he could count.
Yet, here he was, making lists.
Mental lists, mind you.
He'd figured quite early on that writing down any list beginning with numero uno of Keep Brenda from ever falling for Connor Fucking Monaghan would raise a number of questions if discovered.
That one would be easy, he was certain. All he'd need to do is remain in London. If he remained in London, with Brenda, as a couple, she'd have zero chance of falling in love with the lad.
He'd debated on Steve. Itero had said Clare. He knew Steve's love for Kelly had never died, just rearranged a bit.
He'd liked Celeste. They'd all liked Celeste. Steve had really fucked it up with her.
With Laura Kingman.
Fucking Laura Kingman.
He'd also keep Brenda the fuck away from Laura.
Celeste might be an option, if they could somehow ensure Steve kept it in his pants.
Still, Dylan did adore Janet.
And Janet meant Maddie.
He'd ultimately decided to let Steve figure out his own future.
Then there was David.
They'd all thought he belonged with Donna, but had he? Dylan had heard things, things that made him question how the two had ever married.
They seemed happy.
Would they have been happier with others?
Dylan may have had many regrets over what he became to Brenda, but he could at least say he had never stolen her money.
He wasn't too convinced of the idea that David should have ended up with Val.
He'd determined David could work out his own shit, too.
After he dealt with Scott Scanlon's death.
Fuck. Dylan likely couldn't change that. He'd seen far too much media to know death was death and it always came around no matter how one tried to stop it. If he got David to prevent Scott from playing around with that gun, then Scott might die in an even more gruesome way.
Jack was different.
Jack hadn't died.
He'd just fucking lied.
Dylan might not be able to save Scott, but he could at least acknowledge the kid's presence.
That left Brandon.
Minneapolis' number one player would be hitting up the field that summer; after Andrea would reject him, after he'd turned down Kelly.
He'd tried to warn Brandon about Sandy. Brandon still hadn't listened, but he'd tried.
Then Dylan had shifted his hands out of his denim pockets just a little, seeing if his and Brenda's magnetic force would activate whilst they stood watching Brandon make a fool of himself over grunions.
He was pleased when she'd moved closer. He doubted she realized it.
He doubted she realized when his nose instinctually grazed against her hair.
Or when his eyes momentarily closed at the peace he felt just standing behind her again.
It'd been too fucking long since he'd even been able to see her, let alone stand close enough to scoop her into his arms.
He'd resisted - for now.
They'd be closer than ever by the time Emily Valentine would come along.
Nearly kill Dylan's girl.
Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration.
But it had sure felt like it in that moment, when he had watched Emily playing with a lighter on a float covered in gasoline with his Bren standing inches away.
He added that to the list, to keep Emily away from Brenda.
He'd never go on that date with Emily. That would be a start.
He doubted it would affect Emily drugging Brandon, but it could at least prevent Brenda from fighting with her.
He didn't think Emily had been the second blonde Itero spoke of; nevertheless, he could still change that.
He'd try to keep her from drugging Brandon, too.
Brandon's list of chicks rivaled Dylan's.
He wouldn't even attempt to figure out who belonged with Brandon.
Maybe it really was Talia.
If Brandon and Kelly were meant to be, they'd find a way.
If Steve and Kelly were meant to be, they'd get it together.
If Brandon and Steve wanted to stand on the lawn of Casa Walsh arguing over Brandon making a move on Steve's girl at that weekend retreat, Dylan would provide the popcorn.
Because it sure as hell wasn't going to be him.
It wouldn't have been him in the first place, if Brenda had taken him back on that pier.
She wouldn't reject him on the pier, because he wouldn't damage her trust with his lying and cheating.
She wouldn't reject him on the pier, because they would've already left the Hills.
So Kelly could also figure out her own shit; Donna, hers.
Unless Donna met Noah Hunter. Then all bets were off.
And if he saw Ray Pruit lay one hand on Donna, the guy was going down.
Andrea.
How could he get Andrea to change her mind about Yale?
Even Brandon couldn't change her mind about Yale and if anyone would have been able to do it, it would've been Brandon.
He wondered if Brenda could do it.
He didn't know if she'd tried.
Probably not; she'd been in Minnesota then.
If it was financial support Andrea needed, he could help with that.
If it was financial support her grandmother Rose might need, he could help with that, too.
He hoped.
If things went the way with Jim that Dylan intended them to go, his trust fund would still be out of his hands by the time they graduated.
Less of a chance for Suzanne and Kevin to swindle him. No swindling, no getting drunk in Baja. No getting drunk in Baja, no heroin. No heroin, no rehab. No rehab, no hypnotherapy. No hypnotherapy, no messing around with the relationship of Brandon and Kelly.
No hypnotherapy and he'd be with Brenda in every life. Itero had practically said as much.
Big Jimbo liked Andrea. Surely he would understand the importance of financially supporting Rose Zuckerman.
He stared down at his plate of food. He should be at the beach right now. He should be getting caught unawares by a wave. He should end up in the hospital. Brenda would arrive, looking like the angel she'd always looked to him, even when she was livid.
Which she'd frequently been before their final split.
A livid angel with the rosiest of cheeks, throwing Dylan's possessions into his duffel before tossing his duffel out the door and him with it.
Fuck. He might be required to remember that shit, but he didn't have to dwell on it.
Conking out in the waves was tempting. He'd tell Brenda he needed her, which was just as true now as it had been then. He'd stay with the Walshes. He'd loved staying with the Walshes, having Brenda sleeping around the corner, Brandon in the same room and Cindy's delicious cooking.
Brenda had become a fantastic cook, too.
She probably cooked for Connor Fucking Monaghan all the fucking time.
Jim probably loved that fucking Monaghan, the second son Dylan used to think he could become.
Goddammit.
It'd end with Jim's temper. The start to their tension. Dylan would go to Hawaii. Brenda would suddenly have a thing for her drama teacher.
Scratch that.
He would wait to surf. Brenda could always look like an angel later.
Dylan would work his way into Jim's family, as gradually as it took for Jim to accept that Dylan was there to stay.
And staying with Brenda at sixteen, at twenty-two, at thirty-six if she had let him would make it way too damn difficult for him to not take her then and there.
He could take her elsewhere, after she'd gotten over her fear. He'd just have to wait a few more months.
And at least seven more years until their second pregnancy scare, which he hoped would be the real thing.
Maybe it would be less than seven years.
Twenty. They could have a kid at twenty. Twenty seemed a reasonable enough age to prevent Jim from spazzing.
He added that to the list.
He'd go house hunting as soon as he finished his pie.
He'd forgotten how goddamn starved he and his friends had constantly felt at sixteen.
He hadn't forgotten the pie.
He'd always had a love affair with Nat Bussichio's pies.
Which were a hell of a lot better than Nat's coffee, a brewed disaster that dishonored Nat's entire Italian lineage.
Nat.
Fuck, there was no way Dylan would be able to prevent his second father's first heart attack.
First father, really.
Nat had been much more of a father than Jack had ever been.
"Hey, Nat?" said Dylan, looking up towards the man who'd lost his greys and presently appeared about twenty pounds less than the man he would become.
That sparkle in Nat's eye never faded, his boisterous laugh still prevalent.
It'd dampen every time he'd ask Steve about the Walshes and Steve would shake his head, indicating to Nat that Steve still had yet to convince either Walsh out for a visit.
Dampen. Not dissipate.
Then he'd look at Brandon's old shirt, still hanging in its case on the wall, and the picture of Laverne that held a prominent spot of its own - a signed copy, gifted to Nat by the request of Steve, from film star Brenda Walsh.
Film star. West End star. That recurring role she'd had on Skins. He'd caught every episode, just to be prepared when she came on.
He'd liked Chris. He'd hated Tony. He'd especially hated when Tony started hitting on Brenda's character to make Michelle jealous.
Then there was her stint on Merlin.
She'd been a fucking hot witch.
Brenda had done it all.
With goddamn Connor Monaghan at her side.
She would do it all again, this time with Dylan showing her off to the blinding flashes of the intrusive cameras.
It would be his face that showed up with Brenda in those magazine photos.
He didn't do paparazzi. He didn't do cameras.
He'd do them for her.
He'd do everything Monaghan had done, and he'd do it a hundred thousand times better.
Then he would never be forced to see Nat fight it, the tears that Dylan had fought over those Walsh people more times than he wanted to count.
"Dylan, my boy," said Nat, his cheery demeanor no longer a charade as it would become in twenty years' time, "what can I do ya for?"
"I'm lookin' to move," said Dylan. "Condo's kinda cramped. Know of any place?"
His bungalow was tempting. He'd fucking loved that bungalow. He'd slept with Brenda all over that bungalow.
He'd slept with Kelly there, too.
Then Val.
That one chick he did the body shot with.
Even Donna had lived there.
And Toni.
Toni.
Should he feel bad that he didn't feel bad that moving to London with Brenda would mean he'd never be around to meet Toni, the former Mrs. McKay?
She'd live.
Brenda would've liked her.
Come to think of it, Brandon had.
Brandon and Toni?
Kelly would have a conniption.
Maybe they'd never know Toni.
Maybe she didn't exist in a world where Anthony Marchette would burn in hell before the bastard could try to burn Jack.
The bungalow was out.
"Funny you should ask," said Nat. "Joey's been getting onto me about getting a roommate, someone to help afford the bills so I can take more breaks away from this place. But that's probably not what you had in mind."
Dylan's jaw hit the floor tile.
He could help out with Nat's bills. Easily.
He'd get a job of his own if he had to, like Brandon did.
Like Brenda would do, however short-lived.
Jim would forget that. The Big Guy would often forget things when it came to his daughter.
Dylan had already called up Iris to ensure Jack's frozen assets wouldn't affect his bank account.
She'd been shocked to hear from him. He'd decided he wouldn't wait around to grow a relationship with his mother. She'd become one of the only constants in his previous life. It wasn't often they saw each other - a holiday or two every other year. She'd initially asked about Brenda, if he had attempted to regain some semblance of friendship with her.
He couldn't be friends with someone who acted like he'd never existed in their story.
Who made an excuse to get off the phone with Maddie if she even mentioned him being in the same room.
Madster didn't know why her auntie Brenda never wanted to talk to or about her Goddad. She also didn't know her recaps to her Goddad of the current happenings in auntie Brenda's life both hurt and helped.
Maddie had stopped asking why.
Iris had also stopped asking.
For the first time in Dylan's life, he considered that his mother's alleged gift might have been real. He bet she'd communicated with her spirits, who then called forth Itero.
He'd skip Hawaii. He'd seen enough of Hawaii to last him several lifetimes.
If he did go to Hawaii eventually, he'd bring Brenda with him.
In the meantime, Iris could come out sooner than she had previously. She'd loved Brenda before; she'd love her again. The more people cheering for him and Brenda to make it, the better. The more time he spent around Brenda, as her friend, the sooner she'd come back to him.
For good.
He hoped.
Just making the one call had already created a change.
The inheritance from his late grandparents McKay had come through.
They'd given him everything.
That hadn't happened before.
They hadn't been half as wealthy as their only son, but they weren't exactly middle-class, either.
If helping pay Nat's bills would prevent Nat's heart attack and the ensuing rift with Brandon over Dylan's decision to buy the Pit, then Dylan would hand over his entire bank account to the best pie maker he knew who had always treated a group of abandoned misfits like they were his own.
He'd not only keep things solid with Brenda; he'd keep them solid with the other B, too.
Neither Walsh twin would give up on him this time.
He'd be a buzzing nuisance in their ear if they tried.
"Would you mind?" Dylan asked, his heart conducting a samba with his throat. "Me moving in? Would you mind having a rebel teen around?"
"Dylan, I've known you since you were cruising around in your mother's belly," said Nat. "You're as far removed from a rebel teen as one can get, no matter how much you like to pretend you're James Dean reincarnated. And kid, I knew James Dean. You've got a long way to go before you become him."
Nat hadn't talked to him about Iris before.
Probably because he'd shut Nat down every time.
"You knew Mom?" asked Dylan. "When she was pregnant with me, I mean?"
"You made Iris my best customer," said Nat. "Your father practically paid the mortgage on this place with how much he spent on food to satisfy her cravings."
That sealed it.
He was moving in with Nat.
He'd let Nat tell him every story he knew about the McKays back when they'd just been Jack and Iris and not That Greedy, Abusive Asshole Jack McKay, plus his eccentric ex-wife who Jack had let everyone believe had chosen to walk out on her son.
Just like he'd let everyone think he'd been killed in a fucking car bomb.
He'd have to visit Jack, at some point.
He'd ask Brenda along.
Nothing would keep Brenda from meeting Jack this time.
"How much?" asked Dylan.
"Now, hang on, kid," said Nat. "You can move in with me if you want, but you're not paying rent."
"Nat, c'mon. You know my family's loaded. How much?"
"I thought your father's assets -"
"My other family. How much?"
"Two hundred."
"Nat."
A deep sigh.
"Three hundred."
"Nat," Dylan repeated, with heavier emphasis.
"Four hundred. I'm not accepting more than that."
Shit. He'd forgotten how much cheaper living had been in the nineties, even in California.
He decided he fucking loved the nineties.
"A month?" asked Dylan.
"Grand total," said Nat.
"Nat!"
"Fine. Four hundred, every other month. I'm not gonna make a kid your age give me four hundred every month."
"Can I at least help out with the groceries?"
"If you want," said Nat, who had clearly been left utterly perplexed at Dylan's request.
"Then done," said Dylan.
He didn't think he had ever seen Nat's face split quite like that before.
"If you change your mind," said Nat, "no hard feelings."
He wouldn't.
"What are you boys up to?"
He swung around on his stool.
She stood next to Andrea, an Andrea free of the worries life would bring to her as a divorced college dropout who had practically raised her daughter on her own with her ex's crazy work schedule.
An Andrea who currently glowed for some reason he knew not.
She didn't glow nearly as much as Brenda did, as his angel did.
That she'd come back to him at all proved that she'd always been and always would be his angel.
"I'm movin' in with Nat," said Dylan, grinning at his girl. "Next week alright, Nat?"
"Next week is perfect," said Nat.
"Dylan, I think that's wonderful!" said Brenda, walking over.
That was the kind of wonderful he could get behind.
It took every ounce of willpower to not pull her in for an embrace, to not tug her down onto his lap as he had done so many times and would do far more times than that.
She took the stool next to him.
That would suffice.
For now.
"Nat, can Bren hang around the place?" he asked.
"Happy to have ya, Brenda," said Nat.
"If you want, Bren," added Dylan.
"I'd love that," said Brenda, with an answering smile almost as wide as his.
"Just no hanky-panky on my watch," Nat warned.
Dylan groaned.
"What?" asked Nat.
"Nat, I'm gonna be the best roommate there ever was, but I'm beggin' ya. You've gotta never say that word again."
Nat brushed off his request with an uproarious chuckle before he walked off to attend to other customers.
"It's better than what my grandma says," said Andrea.
Any cheer Dylan had felt whooshed away from him.
He'd drifted so far from Andrea, he'd only known of Rose's passing through an obituary, sent to him from Steve.
Fucking hell, when did Steve become the one trying to keep them all together?
"Dylan?" asked Brenda concernedly, looking at Andrea with an unspoken dialogue between the two.
He knew they were communicating about him.
"How was class?" he hurriedly asked.
"It was great," said Brenda. "I'd hoped to get Juliet. Chris made Donna Juliet, Andrea got Lady Macbeth, but that's okay because I'm the Queen of the Fairies."
Dylan nearly spit out his coffee.
"What?" he asked, the hoarseness of his voice matching the raw feeling in his gut.
"Queen of the Fairies!" she said giddily. "You know, Titania, in A Midsummer Night's Dream. Chris is on this Shakespeare kick."
Somewhere in time and place, Itero would be laughing its wings off.
"Who's Chris?" he asked.
"Chris Suiter, our drama teacher," said Andrea. "Brenda's got a crush on him."
"I do not," said Brenda. "Andrea's got the crush. I just think he's brilliant," she gushed. "He's performed at the Globe twice, and he's only twenty-two."
She'd also perform at the Globe. Instead of twice, it'd be thrice.
He'd seen her first performance, when she was twenty-two.
He'd missed her last, at twenty-five.
"Dylan?" asked Brenda. "Dyl, you're spacing out again."
Shit. He needed to work on that.
"Can't wait to see ya in action, Bren." He held out a forkful of his pie.
She clamped her lips down on the fork.
He knew she would.
She always had.
"Is the performance open to the public?" he added.
"Dunno," said Brenda, licking her upper lip to remove a stuck crumb.
He wished time would freeze again, just so he could plunge into her on the floor of the Pit without everyone staring.
"We can ask," said Andrea, with a smile to Dylan. "Chris might like the idea. Oh! We can turn it into a fundraiser for the helpline!"
God bless Andrea Zuckerman.
"Oh my God, I love that," said Brenda, beginning to rattle off with Andrea an entire list of plans before even discussing them with Chris Suiter.
He could listen to her rambling for hours and never grow sick of it.
He'd happily help her craft a plethora of lists, practice for the lists she'd make for their wedding and their children.
But first, he'd ask her to make a different list: a list of every place she wanted to see in the world.
Then he'd take her to all of them, long before her theatre tours and overseas filming would commence.
Not the summer after graduation. That was way too similar to his past - future - past, to what he'd done with Kelly instead of the person he'd most wanted to take.
They'd stick around for the summer.
They'd move to London before RADA's autumn term.
She'd still go to RADA…right?
If not RADA, then Berkeley. Or CalArts. Julliard. USC. UCLA. NYU. AMDA. He'd pay for her tuition himself, if she didn't get a drama scholarship which he was certain she would.
Any school other than fucking California U, the school that had driven his Brenda away from him.
It didn't matter that he'd earned his degree there.
He could earn his degree anywhere.
They'd get her transferred to RADA, or LAMDA.
Assuming she still wanted to leave for London.
Surely she would. He imagined Europe called to Brenda in every lifetime.
They'd go everywhere.
Except fucking Éire, the country that made Brenda yank back her heart from his protesting grip to give to fucking Monaghan.
On second thought, they could go to Éire, once Brenda had Dylan's ring on her finger and maybe a couple of his babies bouncing around in her.
He'd figure out where Monaghan worked. Show up there to flaunt pregnant Brenda in front of the guy, then leave before they could properly meet.
Monaghan wouldn't have a clue what it all meant, but Dylan would.
Fuck, he was getting hard just thinking about his Brenda carrying around his offspring.
Four kids. A fifth on the way.
They'd get there.
They'd absolutely get there.
"Dyl, we're heading to the beach. Wanna come along?"
Brenda in her bathing suit?
Fuck yeah, he wanted to come along.
"I've got an idea." He jumped up to follow the girls with a quick See ya shot over his shoulder to Nat and the promise that he'd stop by Nat's later to take stock of what they'd need.
His old friend had protested.
Dylan had insisted.
"I can't believe I'm doing this."
"You said you've always wanted to learn."
"I do, but I'm totally gonna fall!"
"Then I'll catch ya."
"We'd both wipe out."
"C'mon, Bren," he laughed, "just start moving your hands, like this."
He showed her, his hands and arms angling out into the foam of the sea.
She continued to hold onto her board with a grasp so tight, her knuckles were beginning to whiten.
"You gotta actually stand if you want anything to happen, babe," he coaxed.
"Okay." She breathed out more slowly than a sloth took to cross the finish line, shakily stood onto the board, and followed Dylan's coaching to the letter.
"That's my girl," he said, pleased with her progress. "We'll make you a pro in no time."
She'd be ready for Huntington by the time they headed down to La Boca Grande.
"If you want to do it again," he added.
"Are you kidding?" Brenda asked, her eyes sparkling with enough fairydust to beckon an entire community of Iteros, "Want to? Dylan, I need to. That was amazing!"
"One day," said Dylan, "I'll take you over to Portugal. They've got this massive wave, in Nazaré. You'll feel like a queen riding it."
They'd planned to go.
They would have gone, if his boss over at Ramboll hadn't tasked him with climbing fucking K2.
They still would have gone, if he'd returned from K2 with his mental health intact.
Another item to add to the list.
Never climb fucking K2.
"I always feel like a queen with you," she said, and then blushed when she realized she'd spoken aloud.
He followed the trail of her blush down to her lips, stared at the spot on her lower lip that had been the last place his own lips had nibbled, and then looked back to the water.
"Pretty soon, Bren, you'll be able to do this," he said, starting to ride a wave.
"Dylan!" she screamed.
There were voices. Blurs. A haze.
Fuck. No. Shit.
He lay in a hospital bed, shirtless. Wires taped to his chest. Brenda calling his name.
Fucking goddammit.
He hadn't changed a goddamn thing.
He'd still been blasted by that wave.
Was this a fucking joke being played on him by the universe? Had Itero been sent to put him right back in the position where he would have to face losing Brenda for good once more?
He couldn't. He couldn't go through that again. His whole body throbbed in a searing ache at the mere thought.
No, wait.
Brenda was there, but -
But she was holding his hand.
She hadn't held his hand.
And Nat hadn't been standing on the other side of the bed.
Talking to the doctor, with Brandon focused on the adults' conversation.
"Dylan?" said Brenda.
She'd been crying.
He reached out to brush his hand against her cheek.
"Bren," he murmured.
"You scared me," she said, clasping his hand to her cheek. "I thought I'd lost you."
"It was awesome," he said.
The dream. The dream had been awesome.
Bren, aged twenty-two, grinning up at him in her sexiest lingerie.
Half of her sexiest lingerie. The other half lay on their carpet.
It'd been a memory; in this reality, it was only a dream.
"Yeah, really awesome," said the frowning Brenda. "Look at you. You're lucky to be alive. If we hadn't gone surfing -"
"I'm fine," he said with a certain puncture to his words.
He was better than fine.
She wanted him to touch her.
He was fuckin' flying.
"I called your dad's lawyers. They sent me over to Karl."
He'd known Karl for over a decade, Jack's old business partner who would change careers to manage the condominium that would become Jack's residence - and, at times, Dylan's, whenever he didn't stay at the Bel Age.
He'd been offered a cookie by Karl when he'd come out aged eight and announced he'd be running away to join the Beatniks.
Considering Dylan would only be permitted the double chocolate chip cookie if he stayed, he decided to instead temporarily run away from Jack's unit and hang out for the day with Karl, who informed Dylan that he'd be better off waiting to meet Jack Kerouac than going off to search for him.
"He said you've already moved out of the condo. Why didn't you tell me?"
"It didn't seem like anything I needed to tell anybody."
"Not even me?"
She rushed on before he could apologize.
"Where have you been staying, Dylan?"
His family's cabana at the beach club. He figured he could make that work for another week.
"The cabana? Dylan!"
"I've stayed at the cabana before," he said.
"Not to live in," she scolded. "I asked Mom if you could stay with us 'til you move in with Nat. She was cool with it, but -"
"Lemme guess. El Padrino said no?"
"Not exactly," said Brenda, which surprised him. "Dad said you could only stay if you had no place else to go. Except -"
"Except you do," said Nat, tucking an arm around Brenda's shoulders. "I've cleared it with the doctor. It's a little earlier than we expected, but -"
"But it's perfect," said Dylan, attempting to smile through his pounding migraine.
"You're the best!" Brenda smacked her lips onto Nat's cheek.
"Can I move in, too?" asked Brandon.
"Don't think your folks would go for it, Brando my boy, but you're more than welcome to drop in anytime."
"I'll check on you every day after class," Brenda promised.
She had yet to let go of his hand.
Dylan wondered if Itero flitted amongst them, in the form of Nat Bussichio.
"You look like an angel," he said, unable to stop himself as he stared into her eyes to see if he could peer into her soul.
Those stunning hazels, typically tinted in more of a blue hue.
Those hazels had glistened one too many a time, usually over him.
They were doing so now, but not because he'd hurt her.
Because he'd been hurt, and she cared.
She cared.
"I need you, Bren."
"I know," she said, almost in a whisper.
No, she didn't.
She couldn't possibly have an idea of just how much he needed her.
"Everything's gonna be alright." Her fingers stroked through his hair.
Paradise. He was in paradise.
And that was his gelled hair, styled in the manner of a greaser.
Brenda's fingers combing through his natural curls had daily driven him fucking wild with desire.
If the style of his hair hadn't been his staple in high school, he'd ditch the gel and go straight to the curls.
Two years. He'd give it two years, then out would come the curls.
"You're gonna be outta here in no time."
"We better go, Bren," said Brandon. "You gonna be okay, D?"
D.
God, how was it possible to suddenly be slammed with the missing of a single-letter nickname one never knew they'd missed?
"Yeah," he let out in a shaky breath, "yeah…B. Gonna be just fine."
"I don't want to go," said Brenda, "but I said I'd meet Donna and Andrea to practice our scripts. Oh, and David might come."
"David?" asked Brandon.
"You know, Scott Scanlon's best friend."
"Scott the kid in your health class Scott? Scott the kid in Dylan's tech class last year Scott?"
"Why, Brandon, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you have a problem with underclassmen."
"I don't," said Brandon. "But Scott; isn't his best friend David Silver David? You're hanging out with David Silver?"
Dylan had to push down the laugh bubbling within him.
Brandon had no idea David Silver would become one of his closest friends in the world.
"He's not so bad, now that he's stopped stalking Kel," said Brenda. "Don's worried 'cause Chris made David Romeo and she really doesn't wanna mess this up, so Andrea and I said we'd help them practice. We're not even sure he knows how to kiss. He and Maya lasted what, two days?"
"Donna has to kiss David? That's hilarious," said Brandon.
Dylan's own laugh ripped straight through.
Fuck, that hurt.
"You probably shouldn't laugh, honey," said Brenda, her other hand going to his shoulder.
Honey.
He was her honey again.
Progress. Loads of progress.
Honey would become babe, babe would change to baby, and baby would lead to a whole list of pet names, usually spoken in French.
He was her honey, and both of her hands had found their home.
This was great.
It was fucking fantastic.
"You'll be my own personal nurse; right, Bren?" he asked.
"Of course," she said. "It's what friends do, right?"
Oh, they were far more than friends.
He could see it just in the way she looked at him, in the way she'd worried over him.
She'd done a better job of hiding it last time.
She'd been worried then; sad, too.
This time, however, there'd been tears involved.
She'd only set her hand on his hair.
She hadn't stroked it.
He'd never loved surfing more.
Hell, he'd never loved the ocean more, and his late granddad said Dylan had been in love with that since the first moment he lay eyes on the cresting waves from his stroller.
At this rate, they'd possibly get back together before the school year even started.
Starting junior year together. Starting senior year together. Graduating together. Starting college together. Graduating college together. Starting their lives together. Starting a family together.
There'd be many starts, many moments of being together.
No fucking endings.
He couldn't wait.
"But I'm not wearing a nurse's uniform," she added.
That was okay.
He'd just imagine her in it.
"Love you," he said, casually. He'd get away with it. She'd think he'd said it because of the medication.
"I love you," she said, without missing a beat.
He hadn't expected that.
"I love you more," he said, anticipating her smile to slide off of her face.
It didn't.
It doubled in size.
"Okay, c'mon stubborn sister," said Brandon. "You're gonna be late to Andrea's."
"I am not stubborn," said Brenda.
"Yes, you are," said both Dylan and Brandon.
"Whatever."
"Bren, I'm gonna start the car to get the A/C running and if you're not out there in five -" Brandon began.
"Oh my God, you're so impatient," said Brenda.
"Bren, I'm the one driving you over to Donna's. If you're late, who do you think the Chief will blame?"
"Okay, I swear I'll be out in five."
"I'll swing by after work, D. Help you move your stuff into Nat's when you're released from this place."
"Appreciate that."
"Later, brother."
"Adios, Minnesota."
"Bren -"
"Five. Yeah, yeah, I know."
Brenda shook her head, looking at Brandon's retreating back.
"To be a bitch or not to be a bitch, that is the question."
"Titania meets Hamlet," said Dylan.
"You're right!" said Brenda. "I'll use my annoyance at Bran to channel my inner Titania."
"You two fightin', or something?"
"Nah. Bran's just bitter about - never mind."
"About?" asked Dylan.
"Bitter Kelly was in the clinic with us instead of him," she said in a rushed breath. "He'll get over it. Anyway, I don't really want to go," she added before he could consider what she'd said, "but I do have to and you, Dylan; you need your rest."
"I'll dream of you," he said. "The only one that I trust. The one that will help me get through this."
"You still trust me? Even after I broke up with you? Even after you said the only one you can depend on is you?"
"Whatever I said, Bren, ignore it. You're right. I can depend on you. You, and your brother."
"And Nat," she said, smiling at the man snoring in the corner.
She covered Nat with a blanket sitting on the edge of the bed before bending down to brush her lips over Dylan's scarred eyebrow.
"Be good," she said.
"You too," he said. "And remember, if you need to run lines, I'm more than willing to play Oberon."
"Of course you are," she laughed, "considering you just had a royal wipeout."
"Ha," he said drily.
Victory.
He'd gotten a kiss.
It wasn't making out on Brandon's bed, nor on Casa Walsh's sofa, but it was Brenda coming back to him.
He hadn't had to beg.
She was doing it on her own, even without him hanging out in Iris' freaky treehouse as he dreamt of his girl.
He dreamt of her regardless.
Dreamt of dancing with her.
Him, in a soldier's uniform. She, in garb worn only by a Red Cross nurse working the frontlines during World War I.
If that was the reunion of his past persona and Brenda's past persona, he was confident he was on the right track.
If it was just Brenda looking the sexiest he had ever seen her look, then that was also acceptable.
He'd bring it up next Halloween.
This one, though, she'd very much be his Bonnie.
Especially since the Barrow name had originated from the Anglo-Saxon tribes of Britain.
Parker was English, too.
His Bonnie.
Her Clyde.
Sans their tragic ending, because his angel had woken him from his flowery bed.
He'd seen that play once, with her.
Her twenty-first birthday.
In the Globe.
William Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream.
He'd allowed her to analyze it for hours afterwards, caught up in her overflowing excitement.
He recalled Titania had been temporarily enamored of an ass after a quarrel with Oberon.
Oberon, who released his sweet fairy queen from a love she should have known not, created in a mess he'd made.
Oberon, who repaired everything that had been amiss.
And then the Queen and King of the Fairies returned to each other, where their hearts truly belonged.
-x
You'll recognise several lines of dialogue in this chapter from Season 2, Episode 3: "Summer Storm," which contains some of the best BD scenes of all-time, whilst also getting the ball rolling on the Jim shit.
Between this chapter and Seven, can you tell how much I love A Midsummer Night's Dream and how much I friggin' loathe Romeo & Juliet? Ha.
Definitely did not anticipate getting six reviews in the span of less than two days on the first chapter alone! Delighted you're as excited about this story as I am, since I've been fighting it for weeks and finally caved.
As always, thanks a million for the readership, reviews, follows, favourites, alerts, discourse, plot ideas, etc. Stay healthy and safe out there. x