He'd known Nat for thirty-six years.
He'd occasionally baby-sat Nat's son, Frankie.
He'd walked in on Nat and his wife, Joanie, watching one of Brenda's most celebrated films only a few weeks prior to his meeting Itero.
There was no goddamn excuse for not knowing where Nat lived before he married Joanie.
For fuck's sake, Dylan hadn't even known the neighborhood Nat lived in.
Right near Roxbury Park.
Fucking Roxbury Park.
He and Kelly had trampled Brenda's heart in Roxbury Park, and now he lived mere blocks from the very same park he had purposely avoided for the sixteen years hence.
Where he learnt that Brenda did have the capacity to hate, and her hatred was aimed at him.
Dylan believed it a fair deduction that the universe hated him, too.
He'd been incredibly lucky that Brenda's capacity to love had far outweighed that hatred.
He'd been able to dance with her at prom because of her ability to forgive.
One dance. That was all they had before Tony Miller swooped in to reclaim his date.
As much as Dylan had wanted to, he couldn't sock Tony.
Even though Dylan had planned to break up with Kelly weeks before prom, and ask Brenda to it instead.
She would have turned him down, he was sure, but he'd longed to ask regardless after the way Brenda had been there for him when Jack allegedly died.
Two scenarios stopped that, both of which occurred at Kelly's eighteenth birthday party: Tony had asked Brenda to dance. Brenda had said yes. Dylan had fought back the desire to shove off the guy he knew had spoken with all his buddies in the locker room of his plans to fuck Bren.
Then Brenda found Kelly unconscious in the restroom. Dylan had found out the severity of Kelly's eating disorder. He couldn't possibly dump her after that.
He'd already been the jerk girls loved once. Becoming that had made his best friend hate him.
So he tried to be the best boyfriend he could be; for Kelly, at least. He wore the damn tails. He let her think his manuscript was about her. He lied and told her she was his soulmate, in a failed attempt to curb her insecurities. He took her to prom. He fucking took her to that fucking castle outside of Paris, the one where he would have taken Brenda if he'd been the one to go to Paris with her.
And when he got rejected from Berkeley, did Kelly care?
No. She told him to quit moping and go shopping with her, as if that was supposed to cheer him up after being rejected from the school where his supposedly dead father had wanted him to attend.
They'd fought first over Kelly thinking he'd rather have Brenda there - which was true, though he wouldn't admit it to Kelly; then fought over Kelly's numerous mentions of Brandon, which she hadn't realized; then fought over Dylan's despondency about missing out on Berkeley; then he had to fight against her insecurities again, which he'd repeatedly done ever since he first did in that fucking hotel po -
Fuck.
Had Kelly had half as many insecurities with Brandon?
Never, ever date Kelly Taylor. If Brenda still breaks up with you in senior year for some reason even without you cheating, do not turn to Kelly. It'll take years for both of you to accept you're a fucking toxic mess together. You will accept it, and by then, it will be too late for either of you to have a shred of hope of getting back with your respective twin.
No, that one required a rewrite.
You will never, ever date Kelly Taylor because Brenda will never break up with you again.
Much better.
Brenda would have cared about Berkeley, if she'd answered the phone.
She'd spent years caring about him, both while they were together and while they weren't. That was their biggest issue.
He'd never known how to let people care without ultimately driving them away.
He'd driven her away, twice.
He'd driven Brandon away, more than twice.
Maybe he'd assumed they'd always return, eventually. Iris had. Jack had, sort of. Why hadn't his twins?
Perhaps the twins had become weary of his assumption, of the constant work on their end to cling to something they may have believed Dylan had lost interest in maintaining.
Because he'd helped them to believe that, time and time again. They'd given him everything. He'd continuously run at the first sign of hardship, with both.
He did that with everyone.
He was fucking tired of driving away the people who meant the most.
Knackered, Brenda would say.
He was fucking knackered of being his father. Fucking knackered of watching his twins leave him behind.
Tony Miller wouldn't take Brenda to prom.
Tony wouldn't get them a key, which Dylan had been relieved to overhear Steve triumphantly discussing with Celeste had been all for naught.
His Bren had told Tony to put away Tony's gun.
Dylan shouldn't have been relieved, but he was.
They went to school with Tony, in both realities. He'd be unavoidable.
Dylan would play matchmaker for Tony if it would prevent the guy from even thinking of asking Brenda to prom.
Don't step one foot in Roxbury Park and find Tony Miller a chick so he doesn't try to fuck Bren, Dylan added to the constantly growing list.
It'd be as long as Itero's scroll eventually; longer, perhaps.
Enough with the list.
He needed to focus, focus on what mattered.
Released from the hospital. In a shit ton of pain. Expected to recover quickly. The twins had helped him into Nat's. He'd been able to see Brenda every day after class, as promised.
With Nat's hectic work schedule, Dylan and Brenda constantly had the place to themselves.
The whole octagonal gang had dropped in at one point, David Silver included. Dylan had seen Kelly; a giggly, mostly carefree Kelly, gabbing with Donna and Brenda over a fashion spread she'd seen in some magazine.
He'd looked straight at Kelly, straight at the girl he had lost both Brenda and Brandon over, and all he'd felt was indifference.
The same exact way he'd felt towards Kelly the first time he'd been sixteen.
It'd only been during that summer they were seventeen that he had begun to feel something. It wasn't until his irritation with John Sears in college that Dylan would decide he loved her. In rehab, Dylan had told Kelly he'd fallen in love, in the past-tense. After rehab, he'd begun a ridiculous competition with his other best friend to fight for the girl who would turn them both down with the claim of choosing herself which would be contradicted by her mission to get Brandon back mere days later, in Palm Springs. After London, Dylan had been the jerk Gina Kincaid loved, the one consistently trying to talk Kelly into leaving Matt Durning for him, the man with whom she'd bonded in kindergarten.
Except they hadn't.
Because they'd never gone to fucking kindergarten together.
She'd gone with Steve. Perhaps Steve was Kelly's true soulmate.
And now, Dylan was indifferent to her; annoyed, even.
He had unintentionally eavesdropped on a conversation between Brenda and her friends, an easy thing to do with his forced bed rest and Brenda warming up a burger for him in the adjacent kitchen.
Donna exuded exuberance over a stock market internship she'd read about on the bulletin board at the beach club. Kelly told Donna to not be stupid in trying for something loads of other people would be better qualified for.
Had the other Kelly called Donna stupid?
He became further irritated when Kelly snapped at Brenda for arguing with her over what Kelly said to Donna. Kelly said she did so with Donna's best interest at heart, as she didn't want Donna to become excited over an internship she may not get.
Brenda said Kelly wasn't thinking of Donna's best interest; she was being a rude bitch. Kelly said Brenda was the bitch. Donna attempted to play mediator between the two, with Brenda then asking Donna why she allowed Kelly to treat her that way when Donna was a "smart, talented girl" all on her own. Kelly said she'd known Donna since kindergarten and therefore obviously knew Donna better than Brenda did. Brenda said fuck kindergarten.
Alright, so that one had been shouted in Dylan's head, rather than out of Brenda's mouth.
By the time the gang left, Dylan was both fully irked with Kelly and questioning how she would become Donna's closest of friends.
Furthermore, his hope was strengthened.
Perhaps remembering everything didn't mean he needed to cultivate the same feelings.
His mind was thirty-six. His joints were sixteen, which he'd become particularly grateful for. His appetite was sixteen. His sexual appetite was thirty-six; that had to have been illegal somewhere, since he presently wanted to bang someone whose sexual appetite didn't extend beyond sixteen. His speech was sixteen; to a point, as he'd always had an expansive vocabulary.
Had his heart reverted back to sixteen, too?
That would mean the only person who dominated its chambers was Brenda, with nary a sliver belonging to another.
It also meant it would stay only Brenda's, if the dominant lust at seventeen would remain Brenda's.
Which it would. He was adamant.
The downside was Silver.
Dylan's indifference currently also extended towards Silver, which he did not think acceptable.
His indifference towards David Silver wouldn't shift until after Scott's death, when Silver would gain Dylan's respect from a telling-off to the entire school. Their friendship wouldn't have a grain of possibility until Silver stopped Dylan from grabbing the bottle after Jack's funeral. It wouldn't grow exponentially until he helped Silver discard his stash as CU freshmen.
And then they'd fight when Dylan returned from London.
Fight over Gina, the girl who looked a hell of a lot like Brenda.
He'd fought with Steve, Brandon, and David, all over women that he'd come to realize he had never been able to love to the extent he had loved his Bren.
Still loved his Bren.
He added another item to the list.
Hermanos first, always.
He reconsidered.
Brenda first, always. Then hermanos.
"Whatcha doin'?"
He angled his head slightly, to glance at Brenda sitting cross-legged on the shagged carpet.
She was resplendent in red, his favorite color on her. The sight of Brenda alone, in any color, was fucking tantalizing. Brenda's dark hair had bewitched Dylan in every style, but her long hair had been the easiest for him to spend hours playing with.
He did so now.
She looked up at him, an outpouring of love in her eyes.
He prayed she never stopped looking at him like that.
He prayed he would never do anything that would cause her to stop looking at him like that.
"Thinkin'," he said.
"About what?"
"You," he answered with a smile that must have appeared roguish, judging from Brenda's reaction. "You gonna let me help you practice now, or are you just going to keep staring at the text?"
"I have to fully understand Titania before I try to become her, Dylan. Roy's character analysis on Titania is world-renowned."
That better be a different fucking Roy.
"Roy?" he exclaimed, sans expletive.
"I told you Chris performed in the Globe, right?"
Only three fucking times in as many days.
"Only three times," he teased.
"Sorry," she laughed. "I'm just excited. I've been asking Chris about theatre programs around the world to start to get a feel for which ones I should apply to, and he recommended I start reading these texts by Roy Randolph, who's this major director for Broadway and crazy knowledgeable about Shakespeare. I mean, we're gonna be juniors, Dylan. I really don't want to put off something this important. So Chris told me about his alma mater, which sounds really cool. It's this place called RADA - stands for the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts. It's in -"
"I know where RADA is," he cut her off.
"Oh," she said, her enthusiasm waning.
Shit.
"Sorry, Bren. It's these meds. Got me all cranky," he said. "Go on, babe."
"Maybe I should let you nap," she said, cautiously. "The gang being here might've taken a lot out of you."
No, hearing Brenda mention RADA and Roy in the same discussion two years before either would snatch his girl away is what had taken a lot out of Dylan.
He figured they'd at least have another year until Brenda might start talking about RADA. He thought she might have had years yet to know about acclaimed director Roy Randolph, the cad who Brenda had absolutely not slept with and Laura Fucking Kingman would assuredly not get the chance to say Brenda had.
That would help Sanders, too, who had chosen to spend his life repeatedly apologizing to Brenda over the shit Steve had started because he'd let his damn zipper think for him.
Dylan knew all about that; he'd let his zipper think for him, too. The only difference was that Brenda had forgiven Steve.
Then again, Steve Sanders had never stood in front of Brenda to be told that Brenda was cream knackered of his ongoing jealousy, that she'd been humiliated in front of Manzano, that she had discovered Steve's stash and he needed to choose. Steve hadn't uttered an apology in regards to his inability to choose. Steve hadn't been told that if he couldn't choose between Brenda and the drugs that had softened the agonizing K2 memories, then they were done. Steve hadn't been told goodbye. Steve hadn't slammed that fucking scarlet door in his fury, opened it back up after a moment's thought, and then had it slammed in front of his face. Steve hadn't been on that tube out of Euston Station, headed to Heathrow, as his mind cursed Brenda and everything they'd ever been.
Instead, Sanders had apologized on loop. Brenda had accepted those apologies, eventually telling Steve he could stop. Steve had then become one of her only friends in the Hills.
Dylan decided it was due to his Madster and the way the girl drew everybody in, especially Brenda.
"Go on, Bren. I want to hear. Really."
"Well, basically it's in London and there's no way I'll be able to afford it, no way Mom and Dad can afford it nor would I expect them to, but maybe I can get a scholarship. Chris said if I can score the lead for the play when the school year starts and then again in senior year, I might have a chance. Which I'm pretty sure I can do, right?"
Brenda had only discussed auditioning for West Bev's play once, in bed with him after she'd flown back from Paris.
She'd missed the auditions in the fall to help Andrea with Sue Scanlon.
She hadn't even tried in the spring.
She had distanced herself entirely from all social activities in the spring, and not one of the gang had noticed.
Including him.
Because he'd been grieving over a father who wasn't even fucking dead.
"Of course you can, Bren."
You know you're fucking talented.
"You know you're mega talented."
"You're sweet," Brenda smiled. "Oh, and there's this other one, LAMDA, which also looks really great, and then there's one in Paris, Cours Florent; plus Lir Academy over in Dublin's Trinity College. The drama club's taking a trip to Paris next summer. I might go check out Cours Florent. Think I can talk Donna into coming?"
The universe was having a fucking ball with him.
"I'm sure you can," he managed.
Maybe Kelly would go with them.
"Think you would?"
Come again?
"You'd want me to go?"
"If you'd want to. I think it would be fun."
"I would one hundred percent love to go to Paris with you, Bren. Always wanted to take you."
"And we'd bring Bran along, of course."
"Obviously," said Dylan, becoming just as charmed by the idea as Brenda.
"Steve and Andrea. Maybe Kel."
"So we're talkin' the gang, then?"
"Pretty much. Though I'm not talking to Kelly until she apologizes to Donna."
"Seems to me Kelly needs to apologize to the both of you, Bren."
"You heard us talking?"
"Yup," Dylan said, "I heard it all."
"I'm too excited about this Paris idea to be annoyed with you for eavesdropping," said Brenda.
"It's not eavesdropping if the walls are thin and the doors aren't soundproof."
"Okay," she hemmed, "that's fair."
Assuming David's school year still went the same and his on-again/off-again relationship with Donna commenced, Silver would be joining their gang in Paris, too.
Maybe Silver would become one of the gang before he and Donna began.
Why the fuck hadn't they all gone together before?
"So Paris," said Brenda, "we can fly there via Dublin. Bran and I have always wanted to see Ireland. Our great-grandparents hail from County Cork, y'know."
Hey, universe, give it a fucking rest, why don'tcha?
"We were gonna visit Dad's relatives, but -"
"But?"
"But then Bobby had his accident," she said, sobering.
She'd been more reserved at CU. Loud, but reticent. Excited, but cautious. Dauntless, outspoken, gorgeous, but timorous. Still rambled; not nearly as much.
Whilst London had helped Brenda to regain her confidence, she'd never been the same as she was then, rattling off family history of the Walshes that he had never known.
Some would call Brenda's shift in personality her journey into adulthood. Dylan, however, now considered that it may have been the aftereffects of their senior year.
He detested himself for doing that to her.
Over a girl who audibly questioned the intelligence of her supposed best friend.
Surely the other Kelly hadn't said that to Donna. He couldn't see Donna being best friends with someone who had.
And those two women had been attached at the hip in his old lifetime.
Maybe it was a girl thing.
"Anyway, too much school talk on summer vacation," said Brenda. "We can talk about something else."
"Bren, you don't have to stop talking about something that interests you just 'cause you think I don't wanna hear it. You can tell me anything."
"Anything?" she asked.
"Yes, anything."
"Okay, then here goes." She took a breath. "The hardest thing I've ever had to do was try to stay away from you." She grabbed his hand. "But I promised myself, Dylan. I need this time. Does that make me a tease?"
"No," Dylan said, quickly shooting that shit down with a swipe of his hand through her hair, "You aren't a tease. You're just a girl, figuring out what she wants before life tries to dictate it for her."
"Exactly," said a surprised Brenda. "You're different."
"Different how?" he asked, inwardly panicking.
"Can't put my finger on it," she said. "Just different."
"It's the meds."
"I don't think that's it."
"I could start asking you to make out, if that helps."
"Dylan."
"Just a thought," he smirked. "We could go to Casa Walsh and make out on your sofa."
"Dyl, the last time we did that, my dad almost caught us. He's still steamed about the scare. I don't need a lecture from him about the dangers of teen sex when I'm fully convinced Bran had sex with Sheryl in his room and Dad probably would've given him a gold star if he'd figured it out."
"So sex in your room is?"
"Negotiable. For the future." The corners of her lips turned up into something resembling a shy smile, though his Brenda had never been demure. "Can I get you anything?" she asked, dusting highlighter-stained hands off on her denim shorts as she jumped to her feet.
"Can of Coke would be great, babe."
"Afraid you've run out of Cokes. Nat's got some Slices in the fridge."
Fuck Coke.
"Slice, please."
"One Slice, coming right up."
Fuck, baby, you've got one hot, tight ass.
That would become tighter, whenever Brenda would successfully complete one of her yoga videos.
Which Brenda rarely did, because he'd get turned on watching her do her Downward Dog, pick her up in the midst of it, carry her onto their sofa or their bed, and show her just how much she'd turned him on.
"I like your butt," he called out.
"I like your bike," she replied, which left him grinning.
"For some reason, I thought you hate motorcycles," he said nonchalantly, remembering the intense disappointment he'd felt when she'd rejected his offer for a ride.
"You must have me mixed up with someone else. You've only offered once and I said I needed to get home."
They had been in an argument during his second offer, over fucking college. Perhaps Brenda had lied.
"Consider this my second offer and plan for me to take you riding sometime," he ventured, in the event that she had.
"I'm holding you to that."
You should've taken her riding then, you dipshit.
It had never been difficult for Brenda to entice him.
All she had to do was smile. Laugh. Subconsciously tuck a strand of hair behind her ear whilst she focused on highlighting a script.
As she'd done just then, with a smile crafted solely for him.
A smile that had always been crafted solely for him, even after that summer.
A smile that now belonged to Monaghan.
How had he ever let that slip away, let his Brenda unthread herself from his grasp?
Twice?
"Oh, Dylan?" she called out from the kitchen.
"Yes, love of my life?"
He'd only started referring to Brenda with that phrase in London, but now that he knew it for certain, he'd call her that however frequently he damn well pleased.
She didn't seem to mind.
"Henry over at the beach club said the Y's been having a hard time getting a swim coach lined up for their afterschool program. Steve told Brandon to apply. Can you believe that? My brother couldn't even pass the tryouts for a lifeguard and Steve thinks he should apply. They're looking for a skating coach, too. I told Bran to go for that, even though I can skate circles around him. Only thing is he's hoping Nat will take him back after the summer and Dad would flip if Bran tried to balance two jobs with school. But he'd really be perfect for it, wouldn't he?"
"He would," said Dylan, perking up as much as he could with the weight upon his bandaged ribs. "A swim coach, you say?"
"You wouldn't be interested, would you? You and Bran made some awesome baseball coaches. The kids really loved you."
Yes, they had.
And he'd enjoyed coaching those kids, a feeling he hadn't anticipated he would acquire when Brandon first asked.
Laze around Nat's as he had lazed around his bungalow, or help kids learn something he loved whilst getting paid?
Not just any kids. Their local Y's afterschool program was aimed specifically at kids from broken homes.
Dylan knew about that more than anyone.
"They're also looking for a theatre director, and you don't even need a high school diploma, just theatre experience. I don't know if they'll count my community theatre experience from Minneapolis, but Chris said I should at least apply."
Work with Brenda and Brandon? Get in the water every day, even when it rained?
It was such a simple choice, he didn't know how the job opportunity hadn't crossed his path before.
Maybe because he'd never considered working then.
He hadn't needed to.
He still didn't need to, not with his inheritance safely in his bank account.
He wanted to, for multiple reasons.
If Brenda worked for the Y, she'd never have to work for her awful boss at the shop.
If she worked for the Y and he worked for the Y, they'd constantly be together.
Jim liked guys who worked. Jim respected guys who worked.
If Jim heard that Dylan was working, perhaps he would gain Jim's respect. If he gained Jim's respect, he'd gain his trust. If he gained his trust, they'd never be at odds.
If they'd never be at odds, Dylan would never leave behind the girl in the pink dress.
Then they'd never be fucking Romeo and Juliet, if Romeo had cheated on Juliet with…her nurse?
Her nurse was her best friend?
Okay; bad example. I haven't tried to bang an older chick since I kissed what's-her-face on that horse ranch and Lucinda when we were checking out her film.
Dylan would get the job.
He'd give all the money he earned to Nat.
On the topic of money…
Persuade Nat into investing in fucking Facebook. Nat will be a fucking billionaire. Guy deserves it more than anybody.
Just make sure he doesn't invest in MySpace. That would be an unmitigated disaster.
His silence had unnerved her, Dylan noticed as his girl returned with their Slices and a large bag of Pizzarias.
He had to force himself to not jump up and grab the bag from her.
It'd been a fucking long time since he'd seen a Pizzaria.
"I mean, I'm not saying you have to work or anything -" Brenda began.
"It's just not something I've thought about before, that's all. I'd definitely be interested. Let's go get an application."
"Not so fast," she said, holding his shoulders down with both hands. "You're not supposed to over-exert yourself, remember?"
"I wouldn't exactly call getting a job application over-exertion."
He wondered if she could feel the way the lower portion of his body automatically reacted to her hovering above him.
Directly above him.
He could kiss her, if he wanted.
Oh, he wanted.
He really fucking wanted.
But he also wanted to kiss her every day for the rest of their lives.
If she needed time to want that, too, he'd have to give it to her. If she needed to kiss someone else before she could fully return to him, he'd have to grin and bear it.
He'd slept with loads of chicks.
In her other life, Brenda had slept with at least three men.
Two of them, Dylan hated. The third was him.
She'd kissed a few others.
The Brenda that stared down at him now had only slept with one.
Him.
He hoped that would remain the case.
He'd learn to deal if it didn't.
He'd have to. It was only fair. He'd slept with her best friend.
Two of her best friends.
Val and Kelly.
He pondered over whether not hooking up with Valerie would result in an earlier relationship between Valerie and David.
Assuming Val would even move out west.
Maybe she'd stay eastern.
Maybe the real question was if she and David would ever meet.
Itero had been quite certain on that one; yet, David had not even begun dating Donna.
Maybe David's story would play out differently, too.
"Would it be okay if I told you how beautiful I think you look right now?"
"I think that's supposed to be my line," Dylan smiled.
"Guys can be beautiful, too," Brenda defended.
"Half of West Bev would say your brother is."
"Of course they would." She sat back against a throw pillow. "People with eyes as blue as Brandon's always win beauty competitions. It's a fact of life."
"Hazels are beautiful," he argued. "Your eyes are constantly changing colors. You've got the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen, Bren."
"You've got the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen," she echoed, her finger tracing below his eyelid. "Society doesn't give browns enough credit."
"I wonder what you get when you take a hazel-eyed girl and a brown-eyed boy and they -"
"- make a baby," she breathed out. "I've been wondering that, too. I mean, we're way too young to be parents, Dylan, but if we had been pregnant -" She stopped.
"Don't stop," he said, just above a whisper.
They'd never talked of their first scare, not since he had convinced her to reconsider publishing the piece she'd written for Andrea.
Was that another reason she hadn't told him about the second? If he'd chosen her over the drugs, would the third have become her bump carrying a little Walsh-McKay, instead of the Walsh-Monaghans?
How many boyfriends have you had at West Beverly?
One. And I'd like to keep it that way.
He'd like to keep it that way, too - the entire way through.
He'd dated chicks before Brenda, slept with a few.
She was the first one he'd ever had a serious relationship with, the one who taught him to love.
Taught him passion. Romance. To trust. To skate, in the rink near their flat - not that he'd ever been any good at it.
Taught him what it felt like to be part of a family.
Let him teach her things just as much in return.
She'd be his only girlfriend at West Beverly, just as he'd been her only boyfriend there.
And there was no fucking way she was ever getting within the same vicinity as Stuart Fucking Carson, the fucktard who could easily claim responsibility for Dylan's first drink.
"If we had been pregnant -" he prodded.
"I wondered how I'd be as a mom. Do you think I would've been a good mom?"
"I think you'd make one hell of a mom, Bren."
"You would've been an awesome dad."
"Maybe someday."
"Yeah," she nodded, "maybe someday. When we're older."
His heart throttled his kidneys.
"You," he swallowed, "you said we're. When we're older."
"Well c'mon Dylan, who else would I have kids with?"
Connor Fucking Monaghan. Thank fuck his eyes aren't brown so you can't ever find out. I'm the only one you should be making brown-hazel-eyed babies with. Don't even get me started on you marrying a fucking brunet. What the fuck, Brenda? You're in fucking Ireland. What was so wrong with a redhead? A blond? Dyed hair in any color? What the hell did you go and marry an Irish brunet for when you could've married an American brunet? When you could've married me, if you'd just given me another chance?
I don't deserve another chance with you.
But I want it, Bren. I fucking crave it.
God, I miss you.
"Steve?" Dylan joked.
"Yeah, okay. Can you actually see Steve as someone's father?"
"It could happen."
It had happened.
"I think Bran will be the first to have kids, actually," said Brenda. "With multiple baby mamas, at this rate."
Brandon would have been, if he and Kelly hadn't miscarried.
Would they miscarry again? Would she miscarry with Steve? Would she miscarry at all?
Kelly had wanted children more than any woman Dylan had known, so much so to the point that when he saw the promo for the E! exclusive announcing the engagement of Brenda Walsh and Monaghan, he'd offered to inject his sperm into some surrogate for Kelly.
He'd been drunk when he offered. Completely wasted over Brenda. Looking to hurt her the way he felt hurt by her, as if fathering Kelly's kid would somehow make Brenda angry, make her care.
Make her leave Monaghan.
It'd been a ludicrous, abysmal idea he would have come to regret if Kelly hadn't adamantly rejected it immediately.
They'd dodged the bullet with that one.
Kelly had tried to adopt, instead - a kid named Sammy who they'd all joked could've been Steve's mini-me - which had fallen through.
Multiple attempts at adoption, all of which had fallen through.
She'd tried for foster care. Denied due to her drug history.
Kelly had given up.
She no longer had that drug history.
In fact, Dylan realized; neither did he.
And, he realized further, it had been the arrival of Iris that first brought back his drinking.
Thanks, Itero. I owe ya, bigtime.
Not gonna pretend I can stay sober, but I don't have to get near those fucking drugs ever again.
Or lose Bren because of them.
He could have killed Donna because of his addiction, if she hadn't made a quick recovery from smashing her head against a fucking pool.
Dylan had begun to despise pools.
He wondered if he and Brenda could hang in the one at the Y when their lessons were done, both to help him stop hating pools and to see Brenda's slick bod dail -
"Idunno, Bren. Could be us," said Dylan, interrupting his own reverie before he made himself harder than an IRS agent going after a blue collar employee's paycheck. "When we get a place of our own, it's gonna be super hard not to stay under the covers with you all day. In fact, I'll insist on it. We might get you knocked up before we're legal to drink."
"A place of our own?" Brenda mused, thankfully stuck on his earlier sentence rather than the latter part that had fired out of his mouth without a moment's contemplation. "You'd move with me?"
"I'd either move with you or force you to do an LDR."
She despised those. They both did.
"I figured you'd applaud me from afar," said Brenda.
"Figured or wished for it?"
"Figured."
"It's your choice, Bren, but you only have two options to choose between. I'm not accepting anything else."
"Okay. Then let's move in together." He swore her face actually sparkled and was fairly damn certain his did, as well. "After graduation. Even if we aren't a couple."
They would be. He had a whole fucking year 'til Paris to make sure.
"It's a deal." Dylan held out his hand for her to shake, grasping onto hers once she had.
It flew at him: Brenda's stunning eyes locked on his as he knelt on one knee. An overabundance of clothing, on both of them. Too much lace on her.
And was he…wearing a pageboy cap?
In a parlor?
A parlor decorated with furniture that screamed out the Regency era?
Shit, how many lives had they been together in until he went and obliterated everything with that fucking hypnotherapy?
He pondered whether he could sue a hypnotherapist for ruining his fucking lives.
Or sue twice, for demolishing Brenda's lives, too.
"Think we'll always be like this, Dylan?"
Brenda had slid down their interlaced hands to rest on his chest.
"Like what, babe?" he asked, breaths emitting in scattered spurts.
"Close. Able to stay close even when we're broken up."
God, he hoped so.
Except for that last part.
"I hope so," said Dylan. "Good friends. The closest."
"I don't want to lose what we have now," she said.
"Me either." His lips grazed against her temple.
"I think things just got too intense for both of us. I mean, the dance was perfect, everything about that night was perfect, but sitting in that clinic alone with you and Kelly out in the waiting room? That wasn't so perfect."
Why the fuck had he sat out there with Kelly at all?
Why had he let Brenda go in by herself, into an environment that had to have been intimidating for her?
He couldn't remember if the doctor had made him sit out there, if Brenda had asked him to sit out there, or if there were rules in place at the time saying he couldn't go with her.
That had to have been it, Dylan decided. He would've defied both the doctor and Brenda otherwise.
Brandon should have been there, the third member of their trio.
Their old trio.
Current trio. Future trio. Eternal trio.
No wonder Brandon was bitter.
Dylan would have been bitter himself, if it had been Erica in Brenda's position and he hadn't known.
Erica. Her story would start afresh, too. She wouldn't need to deal with the everlasting trauma caused by her fucking pimp.
There were still two years until Erica would show up.
Might show up.
If she existed.
Fuck.
"I'm sorry I didn't go in there with you," said Dylan.
"What are you apologizing for? Jeez, that wave really did a number on your head. You tried to come with me, remember? They said only spouses were allowed back there. A bit old-fashioned, if you ask me. People cohabit all the time."
Well, look at that McKay, you actually did something right.
"Think that'll be me someday?" he asked.
"Idunno, Dyl. Most teens don't think about marriage or kids."
"Most teens don't have a connection half as intense as ours," he argued. "People can spend decades searching for what we've already found and some people will never find it."
"Okay, but it's rare to marry your high school sweetheart."
"Rare. Not impossible."
"Life might pull us apart."
"It won't. I love you more than I ever thought I could love anybody, Bren. Nothing will change that."
"So someday, when you look back at all of this, I won't just be a girl you knew in high school?"
Fuck no, you won't, and I never want to hear that shit from you again.
"I'm in love with you, remember?" said Dylan. "That doesn't just go away."
"You could fall out of love with me."
"Ain't gonna happen."
"I could fall out of love with you."
"Not a cha - what?"
His hands leapt to her waist. His soul leapt to his ears.
"What?" she echoed.
"Bren, if you're wondering about falling out of love with me," he attempted to prevent the warble from his voice which clashed with the echo in his eardrums, "that kinda implies you're in love with me."
In love. His girl was in love.
With him. Brenda Walsh was back in love with him.
Not that shithead Stuart Carson. Not Connor Monaghan, who could go be a perfectly good, blue-eyed brunet to someone else's chick and father her children.
She was in love with him, Dylan Michael McKay.
He'd just been granted the gold medal in the Olympics. Won the WSL championships. Rocketed to the fucking moon.
Had he felt like this the first time she'd told him?
Indeed he had.
Had he ever felt this way with Kelly?
He hadn't.
With Kelly, it had been about the chase. With Brenda, it had been the catch - the best catch of his life.
Just like when she taught him to fish.
Or when he'd caught her from sliding into home plate during a competitive baseball game when Walsh cousins Bobby and Lottie had visited London.
He'd been on Lottie's team. Brenda had been on Bobby's. The two B's had rigged the game, though they wouldn't admit it. Dylan hadn't had that much fun in God knew how long.
You're a fucking moron, McKay.
"I saw you almost drown, Dylan. I've never been more terrified in my life."
"I'm sorry you saw that."
Especially since he'd tried really fucking hard to prevent the entire incident from occurring.
"I want to be sure you're The One," she said. "We're only sixteen. Things could happen. We could hurt each other."
Like hell they would.
"Take all the time you need," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Literally, at the moment," she giggled.
"Not funny."
"Sorry," she said, and giggled again.
"If you don't quit giggling at me, woman, I'm gonna give you something to giggle about."
"Don't you dare."
"Oh, I dare," he said, plunging his fingers into her waistline.
"Dyl!" She laughed. "Dylan, stop!" She continued to guffaw. "Dylan!"
"Admit you're in love with me and I'll stop."
"I'm…in…love…with," she got out through her laughter from his relentless tickling.
His fingers began to slacken.
"…theatre."
"Okay then." He resumed his mission.
"With you! With you!" She tried to squirm out of his grasp. "I'm in love with you!"
"There we go," he said, releasing her with a smirk. "Now remember that in nineteen years when I forget to buy the laundry detergent."
"Nineteen?" Her breaths began to return to a normal pace. "Why nineteen?"
"Nineteen's a good number," he shrugged. "Nineteen's the age we'll get engaged."
"That's kinda young. I want to at least start my career first. How about twenty-two?"
Oh, baby, if you only knew what you'd almost do with fucking Stewie right before your nineteenth.
"Twenty-two could work," he said. "'Course, that means we'll have to get back together beforehand."
"I mean, I'm pretty confident we'll go to prom together, unless you have another girlfriend by then."
"I won't."
Don't let anyone else take you to prom, baby. I'll fucking lose it if anyone else takes you to prom.
"We could make a promise, if you want," he suggested.
"About prom?"
"Yeah," Dylan nodded. "A prom promise. We could say whether we're together or not, we're only going to prom with each other. And if we aren't together -" they would be, they would, they would, "then we'll get back together, at prom."
"We'd have to be back together before then," she said. "Val and I have talked for years about our proms. She'll go with whichever guy asks her out who she thinks is the hottest, but I'm only going with my boyfriend."
He wondered if Valerie's decision to reconnect with Brenda in the other reality had altered Val's own past.
"Oh and Bran wants the gang to go camping up in Yosemite before school starts. We invited Val along. She'll be visiting her uncle in San Diego then. Not sure she'll come, but figured we'd ask."
Val had an uncle in San Diego?
"He's moving back to Buffalo. Said California's weather is too warm."
Brenda said the same, in her excuses to Steve that somehow always occurred when Dylan was hanging around the Sanders' place.
Oh, it's just too warm for Connor, Steve. He's not used to that California weather. He burns in the sun. Seriously. You should have seen how crisped he got when we went to Lanzarote. We had some great craic, but poor Connor peeled for weeks.
So we'll go up to the Central Coast, Steve had texted back. A++ weather. Monaghan will love it.
He's not overly keen on visiting California, she would respond, which they all knew was fucking bullshit.
"So we'll all get to meet the infamous Val," Dylan said.
"Bran's mentioned her to you before?"
Fuck.
"Mm, yeah, guess so. Probably. That's the one who married her stuffed giraffe to B's G.I. Joe, right?"
"Oh, he did tell you."
On the contrary; it had been Brenda's maternal grandmother who had told him, the one time Dylan had met Arlene Beevis during the only time he'd attended a Christmas with Brenda in Hong Kong.
He'd never had the chance to bring it up to Val, who had already moved back to Buffalo by the time he returned.
She'd come for David and Donna's wedding, before everyone except Steve lost touch with her.
Dylan knew David missed Val, that it had been a sore point between David and his wife. Dylan figured it was due to the close friendship the two had crafted, but if Val was actually David's Bren instead of Donna, then David missing Val had been a whole lot more than that.
Dylan wondered what exactly had happened between them. He wondered if David would have told him if he had bothered to ask.
Instead, Dylan had fought yet another friend over yet another chick, who he'd ended up hurting with Kelly anyway.
Before he hurt Brenda by getting back with Kelly.
"Yes," said Brenda, "but only because Val wanted to marry Bran and Bran was hung up on our neighbor Celia, so my twins compromised with G.I. Joe. I mean, I get it; those O'Malleys were cute. I was convinced I was gonna marry Celia's brother, Oisin, except Oisin was into Val."
Oisin O'Malley? How fucking Irish can you get?
"Got a thing for Irish guys, huh?" Dylan teased, whilst inwardly seething.
"Actually, I've got a pretty massive thing for a Welsh son of the sea, from a Scottish fire."
Dylan McKay. Ha. That's me.
"In that case, flaming sword of the Welshwomen, about prom -" Dylan began.
"Okay, how about this?" Brenda said. "If we start senior year together, then we'll end senior year together."
"Co-sign," he said, knowing full well they would absolutely start senior year together. "Is starting junior year together a possibility?"
"Might be. It's still June. Bran said they're planning a luau at the beach club at the end of the summer. We could go to that, if you want."
"Gonna do the hula with me?"
"I can't really see you doing the hula."
"Trust me, I rock the hula."
"I mean, with this." She waved the back of her palm towards his ribs.
"Oh, this won't last long. I've had much worse."
"You have?"
Shit, he hadn't; not in this lifetime.
Well, except for one time…
"Yeah, in the car accident."
"What car accident?"
Fuck, you told her that next year!
"I'll tell you when we're back together," Dylan said, an answer that appeared to satisfy Brenda.
He refused to brood over the fact that their initial reunion had been the result of Brenda's jealousy over his single date with Emily.
If they could reunite twice in a world where everything had become so fucked up, then he felt confident they could reunite just the once in this new one.
He and Brenda were in love. He hadn't done anything to destroy her trust. Jim was pissed about the pregnancy scare, but if history held any basis in their new reality, then Big Jimbo would get over it.
That had to mean something.
"I'm not saying I'll have a summer fling or anything," Brenda said. "I mean, I didn't call it off with you to see other people, you know? I just need to get a grasp on who I am, who I want to be, what I want us to be. But, I am the one who broke up with you, so if you wanted to see other people -"
"Not interested," Dylan cut her off.
He'd seen more than enough other people to know exactly what he wanted, thank you very much.
"So you're gonna fly solo, too? I was thinking about it. Maybe just for the summer, like Brandon."
If she changes her mind and wants a summer fling with some asshole, you've just gotta let her do it. She'll fly back to you. You know she will. You just have to…wait. Hold the phone. Walsh? Fly solo? What the fuck? Does B even know how to fly solo?
"Wait. Hold the phone. What do you mean, like Brandon?"
"Bran claims he's taking a break from the dating scene this summer."
How the hell -
"I'm guessing you don't believe him."
"Dyl, I lost count of the number of girls my brother went out with last year alone, and that doesn't even begin to touch the number of girls he dated in Minneapolis."
Or the babes he fucks when you leave.
You'd be shocked how many chicks Silver had.
"B didn't cheat on any of them, did he?"
"My purported paragon of virtue, ethically sound brother? Cheat? That's funny."
Except Brandon had cheated, twice.
"Have you?" Brenda asked.
"Have I what?"
"Cheated. Have you cheated on anyone before?"
He lay, contemplative over the heartrending inquiry. Should he say he had; on her, with Kelly? He and Brenda had barely been dating for a year and had only slept together a few times before their breakup. It would hurt Brenda significantly less than it had before.
But it hadn't occurred; not in this reality. Nor had his cheating on Kelly, nor his cheating on Gina, nor his cheating with Kelly, nor fucking Silver over for Gina, fucking Sanders over for Val, fucking Brandon over for…
Fucking hell, how had any of them remained his brothers?
Yes, baby, way too many times. First it was on you; then I just kept doing it. Don't ask me why. Have no fucking clue. Probably would've cheated on Toni eventually, at the rate I was going. It gets worse, Bren. Used to talk people into cheating with me. In fact, if you would've been willing to cheat on Monaghan, I would've accepted, no questions asked. Better still if you wanted to fuck in front of Monaghan. Rubbing your bare-naked ass all over his dinner table…
I hate him, Brenda. I've hated that guy ever since you told Vogue where you two met.
A fucking Lesley Gore concert. Her twenty-fourth birthday.
Of all the concerts in all the world, Connor Monaghan had to show up at the one concert Dylan had planned to bring Brenda to on her twenty-fourth birthday.
Fuck Manchester. Fuck Monaghan. Fuck Cassie for taking you there.
And fuck Casablanca, while I'm at it.
It had been Brenda who had convinced him to watch Casablanca in the first place, and then he had turned around and talked Kelly into watching it as well.
Did I mention how much you suck, McKay?
Yes, you did. Pipe down and let me enjoy this fresh start.
You know, they say talking to yourself is the first sign of madness.
Oh yeah? And what do they say about a fairy pushing the rewind button on your life?
They'd say you overdid it on the liquor.
Yeah, well…oh, shut the fuck up.
"No. I haven't," said Dylan.
"Do you think you would?" asked Brenda.
He'd quite like the universe to quit testing him.
"Not on the girl I'm in love with."
"Good answer," Brenda said, and yawned through a soft smile.
"Tired, babe?" He pressed a light kiss atop her nose.
"You're just really comfy."
"I offer my services as your permanent pillow."
"I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't. I'm impervious."
"Says the boy who almost got taken out by the ocean. If you're impervious, Brandon's a seven-foot NBA player."
"Woman, if you don't taper that sarcasm, I'll be forced to kiss it out of you."
"The horror," she teased, with a second yawn.
"Mm, yep, it's naptime," he said, pulling her down a little more. "For both of us."
"We're sixteen, Dylan. We don't nap."
"Bren, when we're in our thirties, we'll crave naps."
"How d'ya know that?"
"Just do. Especially with all our kids running around."
"How many kids are we talking?" she asked, beginning to close her eyes.
"Five, maybe." He took in the sight of her, half-asleep in the crook of his arm on what may have reigned supreme as the most comfortable sofa ever invented.
Why Nat had a sofa etched with designs of sunflowers escaped Dylan, but, for that moment, the sofa had become their bed.
Their flowery bed.
"Four," said Brenda.
"Six?" asked Dylan.
"Four," she repeated.
"What if our fourth kid is a twin?"
"Then five. But we're not purposely having five."
"What if our third kid is a triplet?"
"Don't even joke about that."
"So quints are out?"
"Unless you want me to file for divorce," she slurred.
For her to file for divorce, he'd have to be her husband.
Her husband.
Fuck, he loved the sound of that.
"Mm, nope. Brenda Walsh doesn't divorce," he said, to be answered with silence.
His fairy queen was lost in the realm of dreams.
"Brenda Walsh-McKay doesn't divorce. Got the fairy world's oath on that," he whispered, gently kissing both of her eyelids as he wrapped his arms around his dozing future wife.
Made his sides hurt a bit, but he could handle it.
He could handle anything, with Brenda already willing to discuss marriage and their future family.
Her twenty-second birthday couldn't come fast enough.
He'd bring their first kid to see her perform in the Globe.
Reaching over Brenda's head to swipe the remote from a bookshelf, Dylan turned on the television.
Fucking Grapes of Wrath.
He hurriedly turned his head towards the clock hanging above the mantel.
They still had hours until Brenda's curfew.
Thank fuck.
In that case, he'd just lay there, savoring the feel of his girl breathing beside him.
And hope Nat stayed extra late at the Pit, before he brought home another few hundred Slices to safely store in a climate-controlled warehouse until the end of time.
-x
Season Two was nearly beyond perfect for BD and in general (favourite season,) so it's appreciated that you're all okay with me changing it up a bit!
Chapter Three was almost 6k…ha. Oh well, more to tide you over until chapter four, whenever that may be.
Season One, Episode 12: Bren has a daydream in the style of Casablanca. Season Three, Episode 12: Bren suggests the girls watch a classic "for a change" and is seen holding Casablanca in the video store. As overrated as I feel Casablanca is, I'm headcanoning that BD saw it first at Bren's insistence and then DK stole it. Wouldn't be the first thing that wretched pairing stole.
This chapter is inundated by my top favourite BD lines (with certain tweaks) from: Season Three, Episode 22; Season Three, Episode 32; Season Four, Episode 3; Season Four, Episode 32, as well as dialogue from Season 2, Episode 3 & a flashback from Season 2, Episode 21.
Brendamckay61: Thank you! I hope Brankel is on the mend!
New BD video up at wish upon a dream on YT and wishuponamilliondreams on Instagram, with the main song that inspired Itero.
As always, thanks a million for the readership, reviews, follows, favourites, alerts, discourse, plot ideas, etc. Stay healthy and safe out there. x