His hand, sweeping over his profile. Left hand. A glint of something shiny. On his finger. It was on his second finger. A ring. A - a wedding ring?
He sat up, disoriented by his surroundings. He - he was thirty-six again, but this wasn't his place. He'd never seen the room before. There were pictures, a whole wall of pictures. Skates, peeking out of a walk-in closet. Familiar skates, ones he'd bought. Freshly polished blades. Ice-skates. Brenda's skates.
He kicked his legs over the side of the bed, turning as he heard the soft rustle of slippered feet over a carpet.
Brenda.
"You're here," he uttered, staring at her. He studied his Bren, his eyes tracing over her mesmerizing physique until they became distracted by an abdomen that appeared thick with child.
His child?
The thought addled him, shooting endorphins into his veins.
"Well, of course I'm here, silly," she said. "Where else do you expect me to go when I'm this far along? I can't even get into the car without this," she gestured to her stomach, "pressing into the steering wheel."
"You look beautiful," he said. "Come here."
She complied, waddling over to sit on his willing lap.
"I had the worst dream," he said. "I dreamt that I fucked us up beyond repair and then I lost you, to an Irishman." His forehead pressed against hers. His body meshed to her form. His hand smoothed over her stomach. "Not that there's anything wrong with Irishmen, but -"
"Oh, mi corazón," she said, "you will never lose me."
He tucked his head into her neck. "I love you, Brenda. Please tell me you know how much."
"I do know precisely how much."
His lips painted over her skin. She smiled, caressing the nape of his neck. "We love you too, Emilio."
He quickly pulled back from her. "What did you just call me?" he gasped out.
"Why, señor Reina, is something wrong?"
"Bren." He swallowed down a weighted breath. "Bren, it's me. You know me, right?"
"Of course I know you," she said.
Relieved, he began to pepper tiny kisses across her collarbone.
"You're my husband," she said. "Emilio Reina. The father of my twins. Mi corazón."
"No. No, Bren. I'm Dylan. Dylan," he enunciated.
"Who?" she asked.
"Dylan," he repeated, voice escalating in urgency. "Dylan McKay."
"Oh, him," said Brenda dismissively. "The boy I used to know."
"What the fuck, Bren? You're literally sitting on my lap."
"I don't know what game you're playing at, Emilio. You know I haven't talked to Dylan since you and I moved to London."
"What - what do you mean?" Dylan thought the ceiling would rip apart and crush him, which would have been less painful than listening to Brenda's callous words. "He's your brother's best friend. He's - he's your best friend."
"Baby, there's no need to act jealous. Is this about the friend request you thought you saw? Because I'm sure that was a glitch, or maybe Steve playing around. Dylan and I don't speak. Ever. He lost touch with Bran years ago. You know that, Emilio."
"Stop calling me that! I'm not Reina, Bren. I'm me. We talk all the time. You love me. Tell - tell me you love me. Please. Please, Bren." The release of his tears transformed into a torrential downpour. "Tell me I didn't start everything over, only to lose you sooner than I did before. Tell me we still have a chance."
Her eyes softened. She took his hand.
The pictures lining the wall began coming partly into focus. Travel photos. Places they'd travelled together, prior to K2. A wedding photo. The dress he'd imagined on her.
Photos that sharpened Brenda's image, but blurred out the man standing beside her.
"Sí. We have all the chances. I do love you. You and our family are my greatest journey. Aquí. Mira."
She held up the hand bearing his ring.
"This ring signifies I am yours," she said. "Por siempre y para siempre."
Nausea arose upon a second examination of his hand.
He had seen it grasping at her waist, attached to an arm that didn't belong to him.
Pulling away from Brenda with a start, Dylan frantically searched for a mirror.
He found it, hanging above the dresser.
The face of a thirty-six-year-old Emilio Reina reflected where Dylan's face should have been.
Screaming, he leapt up in a different bed.
Nat's. He was at Nat's. It was a dream. It had only been a dream. One look in the mirror confirmed it. Sixteen. He was still sixteen. He examined his left hand. Bare. His finger was bare. Brenda's finger was bare. She wasn't married to Monaghan, or to Reina. She wasn't married to anyone.
He still had a chance to ensure she would never be married to anyone other than him. Still had a chance to prevent a severance of contact. Still had a chance to move with her to their London.
But fuck, the nightmare had felt so real.
"Dylan!" a voice hollered. A pounding sounded against the bedroom door. "Dylan, are you awake?"
It may have been the most euphonious voice he had ever heard.
The voice of a sixteen-year-old Brenda.
Hurrying over to the door, he threw it open and squeezed her against his chest.
"Uh, hi," she said, awkwardly patting his back.
"How great is it that we're sixteen?" he asked, nuzzling his nose into her hair.
"Um, great, I guess. Why are you shivering?" Her hands gently gripped his arms.
"Awful nightmare." He inhaled the scent of her body wash, one that seemed reminiscent of an orchard of cherry blossom trees in full bloom.
"Again? Is that why you overslept?" She glanced over his white tank top and boxer shorts.
He was pleased to see her gaze linger over his boxers for longer than most exes would deem appropriate.
"Overslept?"
"Don't tell me you forgot what today is."
Your fucking anniversary of your first date with Monaghan, according to what you told the press. That's what today is.
You aren't getting an anniversary with Reina. No fucking way, Bren. I'm putting my foot down. You can't date that guy.
Dare you to say that to her out loud.
You just wanna see her kick my ass.
Why would I wanna see that? Your ass is my ass.
You know, I'm starting to think you're less of my conscience and more of one of Itero's fairy buddies who's taken up residence as larvae in my brain.
You would say that, considering you spent years ignoring me.
Probably should've kept doing that.
"Well, it's not your birthday," Dylan said.
"You did forget."
"I didn't forget. I'm just testing you. You look nice." He glanced over her ensemble. Brenda had always made a statement with her fashion, but her attire seemed an odd choice for a SoCal summer. "Did I sleep through the rest of the summer? Why are you wearing a blazer?"
Brenda stared him down.
"Oh," he realized. "Oh! Crap, how much time do I have?"
"Half an hour, if you want to be late."
"If I wanna be on time?"
"Then you better hurry up. And I'm definitely telling Brandon I was ready before you."
"Enjoy it while it lasts, Bren, 'cause this is the only time."
"If you've changed your mind, then I can head there myself."
"No," Dylan hastily replied. "Haven't changed my mind. Give me five minutes. Seven, tops. If you want to stay and watch me get dressed -"
"I'll be in the kitchen with Nat," Brenda said, shutting the door.
She had helped Dylan to choose his outfit for his Ramboll interview. Went to the shop with him to pick out his suit jacket. Talked him through his nerves. Promised he could make an impression without wearing a tie.
A tie would be overdoing it, wouldn't it?
Yeah. Yeah, it would.
He quickly showered and gelled up his hair to its usual styled quiff.
Then, he stood in complete indecision.
Business casual. Business casual, he deliberated. Did he have anything considered business casual?
He tossed his clothes around the room, as he had seen Brenda do hundreds of times before.
A rapping on the door.
"Dylan. Are you decent?"
"Depends how you define decent," he called out.
"Lower half covered?"
He crossed over to the other side of the room, letting her in. "It's nothing you haven't already seen."
"It doesn't feel right seeing it when I'm not your girlfriend." Her eyes flickered to examine his pants.
"I have no problem with that," said Dylan. "You can see it whenever you want, even if we aren't together. He's yours, Bren."
"We should get going," she said. "You're not going bare-chested to your interview, are you?"
"Would you believe I don't have a single shirt to wear?" He used the same line he had heard from the older her.
"No." Brenda looked over the piles of clothing. "All clean, right?"
He nodded.
"Then wear this." She lifted out a shirt from one of the piles, which Dylan found to be perfect.
"You're always taking care of me." He gratefully tossed on the button-up.
"I don't know about always." She looped the buttons through their holes. Leaving the top one unbuttoned, she folded down his collar. "I've only known you since November. October, if you count when you came by to take Bran and Sheryl to that club."
"It's too bad you were hiding behind Brandon," he teased, grabbing his bookbag. "I could've seen you before the locker."
"I wasn't hiding. You were distracted by Sheryl."
"And you were thinking about?"
"My teacher," she groaned. "Yeah, I know. He wasn't even that attractive. But 'til I saw how ordinary he was, there was something mystical about him." Batting out the wrinkles in his shirt, she froze.
"Bren?" His hands went to her elbows. "Brenda?" he repeated, voice increasing in decibel.
"Sorry," she shook her head, "I could've sworn for a second you were someone else."
"Someone else?" he asked, relieved she hadn't been frozen by the fairies.
"I mean, you, but a different you, like a past you. Oh, that's not making sense."
"You'd be surprised." Locking his gaze on her, he wondered if she had seen their reunion in another lifetime. "How was I dressed?"
"That's a weird question."
"Just curious."
She eyed him in silence.
"Like Shakespeare," she finally said.
"Elizabethan," he murmured.
She nodded.
"Was it just me?"
"No." She began folding his clothing. "You're gonna think this is really weird."
"Try me," he urged.
"It was both of us. We were both dressed Elizabethan."
He swallowed, gazing at her. "Were you pregnant?"
"Yeah," she said, stunned. "How'd you know?"
"Wild guess."
The resulting silence was interrupted by a voice that bounced off of the walls and reverberated through the room.
"You kids better be off if you want to make your interviews," said Nat from the doorway. "Looking good, Dylan. Reminds me of when you'd come into the Pit dressed like a miniature of your dad and ask to help clean up the grease traps."
"I did?" asked Dylan, looking at Nat and then Brenda.
As long as she didn't start seeing Reina hooking up with her in another lifetime, then things had to be heading in the right direction.
"Yes indeedy," said Nat. "Jack told you McKay men don't clean grease traps, but you kept coming and asking to do it anyway until your nanny caught on."
"I never knew that."
He'd been known as the guy who didn't work, the guy who bought the Peach Pit and the After Dark without hardly lifting a finger in either business. Even Ramboll had come easily, at first; a spouse of one of Brenda's teachers at RADA had been the person with whom Dylan had found himself interviewing.
It wasn't until he'd decided to make a career out of writing that he had put in the effort.
It had been Brenda who had inspired him into that career; well, the idea of her performing his plays. Being cast in films based on his books. Reciting his poetry.
She'd only done one of his plays. A couple of his books had become films, none of which starred her. He'd heard it said from one of the film's producers that Brenda had been sent a script. Her agent had allegedly sent it back to the casting agent with Brenda's two-page letter detailing the reasons for her declining.
He hadn't written any poems since he left her.
"Dylan! Earth to Dylan! Brandon's outside. We've really gotta go. I can't be late to my first interview ever."
She snatched his hand and waved to Nat with her other. "See ya, Nat!"
"Good luck, kids. I'll say a prayer for ya."
Brenda thanked him and then ran out with Dylan, who had barely gotten his shoes on before she had dragged him away.
"What took you so long, Bren? If we get into traffic, we're screwed." Brandon reached over, unlocking the car door as he called out from his rolled-down window.
"Thank your best friend," said Brenda, slipping into the car. "He overslept."
"D, oversleep? Nah. Don't buy it. You were probably just in there making out."
"Oh, whatever," said Brenda, crossing her arms.
"That sounds like a fantastic idea, Bren," said Dylan. "Let's do that."
"Yeah, okay," she said, voice saturated with sarcasm.
"Next time, you two are on your own. Either Dylan drives or Brenda gets her license, 'cause we are cutting it way too close and there's no way I'm missing out on this job just because you guys were making out."
"We weren't making out!" Brenda exclaimed.
"Idunno, Bren. Sounds like your brother is rooting for us to. Might wanna think about that."
"Dylan, right now I just want to make it to my interview on time. You know who else applied for this job?"
"Who?"
"Ruthann Simmons."
"Who?" he repeated, blinking.
"Ruthann Simmons!" Brenda reiterated.
"I have no clue who that is, Bren."
Brenda sighed, tossing her head back against the seat. "Brandon, tell him who that is."
"Lead in last year's school play," recited Brandon, who had likely heard it mentioned multiple times by his sister.
"So?" said Dylan.
"Dyl, I'm already gonna have to compete with Ruthann for the lead in next year's play if I want a shot at that scholarship. She's a senior so she'll probably get the lead again, and now I have to compete with her for the job at the Y?"
"You realize I'm trying to get this job instead of the captain of the swim team, right?" Dylan pointed out.
"But you have loads of experience. Ruthann has way more experience than I do."
"Don't worry, Bren. They'll love you." Dylan glanced at the back of Brandon's head. "Who are you competing with, B?"
"Steve."
"Sanders is trying to get the skating coach job?" Dylan asked, confused.
"What? No, he isn't."
"You just said you're competing with him."
"No, I didn't."
Dylan looked to Brenda for clarification, who explained that Brandon and Steve had begun competing to see who could get Stacey interested first.
"That's ridiculous, Bren. It's my summer of singledom. I'm not competing with Steve on anything."
"Brandon, denial doesn't suit anyone."
"You want to talk to me about denial when you've got your head lying on your ex's shoulder?"
"Oops." Brenda moved her head away. "Didn't even realize."
"Yours for the taking," said Dylan, pushing his shoulder out to her.
"I better not," she said. "I'll mess up my hair."
"I know one way we can mess up your hair."
"Dylan," she groaned.
"I was gonna say we could go for a swim after our interviews. Not my fault your mind jumped to something else entirely."
She arched a skeptical brow at him, to which he merely smiled innocently until she shook her head.
"Are you sure you're healed enough to swim? Maybe you can get that portion of your interview pushed back."
"Yeah, I'm all set, Bren. Truly. Are they gonna have you perform a monologue?"
"Not sure, but I prepared one just in case. Wanna hear it?"
"Absolutely."
When she started in on the first few lines, he swore someone had sucker-punched him in his throat.
It had been two years since he had seen her and, aside from the return of her jet-black hair, she hadn't appeared any different.
He'd watched her; awestruck at her talent, amazed at the fact that he had managed to track her down without intention.
That was what he had told himself, anyway. He hadn't purposely sought Brenda out after Toni's death, but he had checked every place he entered in London in the hope that he saw her around.
He had never expected to run into her during a performance.
Her performance, in-between her second year at RADA and her third. Performing as one of three sisters.
Bringing the techniques she had learnt at RADA to the stage as she prepared for her last year in the program.
The words that had filled the room bowled him over, both in his grief and in his bafflement that she had somehow spoken exactly what he had needed to hear.
"I think man ought to have faith or ought to seek faith, or else his life is empty, empty. To live and not to understand why cranes fly, why children are born, why there are stars in the sky…you've got to know what you're living for or else it's all nonsense and a waste," Brenda finished with a flourish.
"And yet you're sorry when your youth is over," Dylan said.
"Gogol says: it's dull living in this world, friends!" Brenda failed to disguise her shock.
"And I say: it is difficult to argue with you, friends. Oh, well. I give up."
"You give up, D?" asked Brandon.
"I don't give up, B," said Dylan, keeping his eyes pinned on Brenda. "It's Anton Chekov. Three Sisters."
"I guess I shouldn't be surprised you know Chekov," said Brenda, who continued to be stunned regardless.
"Saw the play once," Dylan smiled. "The actress who played Masha really killed it."
"Where'd you see it?"
London.
"Don't remember. Might've been London."
"You've been to London?"
Lived there. With you, the budding West End star.
"Jack had a business trip once and couldn't get a nanny. I think it was wife number three who took me around. We weren't there long. Had to get to New York."
"Oh, I'm dying to see New York."
You will.
"Haven't you been to New York? Buffalo?"
"That's a six-hour drive, Dylan. We never went to the city. Dad said there were too many hooligans and rapscallions."
"Brenda, Dad's never used the word rapscallion in his life," Brandon said. "You're thinking of Grandpa."
"Bran, just play along, okay?"
"Play along, or stop the car? 'Cause we're here."
"Stop the car!" Brenda said, fussing over her hair. "How do I look?"
"Like a film star," said Dylan.
"Exaggerations aside, do I look like someone who can waltz in there and get this job instead of Ruthann Simmons?"
"Bren, you look like someone who can conquer the world if she sets her mind to it."
"Odd," said Brenda, "I almost chose She Stoops to Conquer, instead of Three Sisters."
"Then I guess we're just connected that way," said Dylan nonchalantly.
Stepping out of the car, he sidled up beside her.
Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he walked her towards the building.
"Hey, Bren! Good luck in there. Or should I say, break a leg?"
She turned, Dylan following suit. "Thanks, Emilio! Good luck to you, too."
Reina grinned at her, then noticed Dylan. "Good luck to you, too, McKay."
Dylan gave a tight nod. "Same to you, Reina."
"I'm gonna head inside," said Brenda. "I'll meet you afterward."
"I'll try to catch the latter part of your interview," Dylan said. "Mine should be done by then."
"Sounds good. Tell Bran I'll see him later, too."
"Bren, do you still need a ride this afternoon?" asked Reina.
Dylan's gut encountered a vice grip as Brenda answered back a yes, please.
Rehearsal. Reina was giving her a ride to rehearsal.
Why the hell hadn't Brenda asked him to give her a ride to rehearsal?
"Bye, boys!" Brenda said as she bolted.
Dylan remained fixated on her until she had turned the corner, then surveyed Reina.
"May the best guy win," said Reina.
"You better be talking about the job," said Dylan.
"What else would I be talking about?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe a short little brunette with massive amounts of acting talent."
"Last I checked, Brenda's single."
"Brenda's single, for now," Dylan corrected. "You'll be wasting your time. She's in love with me. It's only a matter of time 'til we're back together."
"And once upon a time, Ellie Daniels was in love with Tyler Nguyen, Kelly Taylor was infatuated with Steve Sanders, and you were the playboy of West Bev."
"Things change," said Dylan. "We were friends once, Reina. But if you think you can turn my Brenda Walsh's head away from me, then you're gonna be sorely disappointed."
"Are you telling me to stay away from her?"
Yeah. Stay the fuck away from my Bren. I'll buy you a first-class ticket to Alaska. You can go hit on Alaskan girls. You're not hitting on mine.
"No. I'm not saying that. It would piss Brenda off if I said that. I'm just telling you that I'm not giving up on her and it's better for you if you do now."
"Oh, so this is you looking out for my best interest, is it? I'm touched, really, but it's too bad for you Reinas don't give up easily."
"Neither do McKays."
And someday, Bren will be one of them.
"If Brenda decides she wants to get back together with you, then I'll back off," said Reina. "I'm not gonna be the guy who comes between a happy couple. But 'til then, as long as she's single, I have just as much of a chance with her as you do."
"You don't have a shot in hell with her," said Dylan, grinding his teeth. "Bren and I are family" who will one day make a family. "You're just a guy she met in drama class."
"We'll see about that," Reina bit out.
Remind me to send you the magazine clipping of our wedding, Reina.
"About fifty guys are hoping to take Bren to prom, Dylan. One of those guys is me. You don't own her."
"Never said I did. Bren and I have a link you can't even begin to fathom."
Well beyond this world. Beyond this universe. Beyond this lifetime. Beyond my fuck-ups. Beyond the other people we chose instead of each other.
What do you have? A high school drama class, that's all you have. I have Bren in almost every lifetime. You won't even have one; not even the one I don't have her in, 'cause that's where fucking Monaghan has her.
"Everyone thinks they have a special link when they're in a relationship," said Reina. "Like a soulmate connection, or something. Little problem with your theory: you aren't in a relationship. Bren isn't yours. If she wanted to be yours, you'd still be together."
"You don't have a" fucking "clue why we broke up. It's a hell of a lot more complicated than you're making it out to be."
"You're right. I don't know why you broke up, but what I do know is we're still in high school and Bren could end up with anyone. Earlier this year when she was still with you, Bren didn't know me at all. Now, she does. We talk every day. Perks of daily summer school. Until she flat-out tells me otherwise, I'm still very much in the running."
"If you want my Bren to crush your heart, then don't say I didn't warn you, Emilio."
"In that case, Dylan," Reina punctuated, "I'll look forward to the day she crushes yours."
The two boys stood toe-to-toe, nostrils flaring, until Reina's name was called for his interview.
One breath in. One breath out. Shaking off the fury.
Ignore him. Just ignore him.
Idiot. Moron. Fucking numbskull.
If I get a rap sheet in this life, it's his fault.
You're not getting a rap sheet. Stop it.
Fuck. I'm gonna need to join the gym and make good use of a punching bag if Reina's gonna keep this shit up.
Or buy a punching bag.
I could buy a punching bag.
Teach Brenda self-defense, in case that stick-up goes differently than last time.
Now, what'd you go and think about that for?
He fervently wished he could protect Brenda from being held at gunpoint. That her experience had largely contributed to who she had become concerned him that it would be unavoidable.
Called for his own interview, Dylan's anger simmered into disquietude.
He looked over the trophies lining the bookshelf that spanned the walls of his interviewer's office.
Billabong. Tahiti. The Eddie. Huntington.
He attempted to not gawk at the multi-pierced man with the fringed hair colored in sky blue who took the seat on the opposite side of the desk.
"Billabong? You won Billabong?" Dylan asked. He glanced at the nameplate on the desk. "Sorry, Mr. Hoech - Hoech - ah."
Fuck, you can't even pronounce the guy's last name? Seriously? How the hell are you supposed to get this job over Reina if you can't even pronounce your interviewer's name?
"Don't worry. It's hard for everyone. Just call me Adam."
"Dylan."
"Oh, I know who you are, Dylan."
Here we go. Dylan McKay. Son of Jack McKay. Wasn't he just busted for twenty-three accounts of tax evasion and security fraud? Why would the son of Jack McKay want to work at some place like the YMCA? Are you gonna scam us like your old man?
"You're pretty known among the circles," said Adam. "Why'd you never go pro?"
"Sorry?" asked Dylan, tuning into the conversation which had thrown him aback.
"Surfing. You surf, don't you?"
"Yeah, I do."
"Rumor has it you could easily win Billabong in the future, too. Never thought about it?"
The King Kaluha of surf comps? You actually think I could win that? 'Cause I've thought about it, believe me.
"Might've crossed my mind," said Dylan.
"Why'd you never compete?" asked Adam.
Because the one time Dylan had competed in a kiddie surf comp was the day his nanny Isotta had picked him up to tell him that Iris had left.
That night, Jack had brought home a bottle of vodka.
Supposedly to get over Iris' abandonment, even though Jack had been the one who forced her to leave.
I was six. Thisclose to drinking vodka, until Isotta ran in and grabbed the bottle from me. Jack was passed out.
Next day, he came home smelling like a brewery and when I asked him why we were out of juice, he yelled at me to get it myself.
When I asked how I would get to the store, that's when he started the hitting.
"Didn't like being told when to get out of the water," Dylan answered lamely.
Adam smiled. "That's exactly the kind of enthusiasm we're looking for for our kids. Are you familiar with the groups we work with in the after-school program?"
"Kids from disadvantaged circumstances."
"That's right." Adam folded his hands together on a stack of notebooks. "So tell me, Dylan McKay, what does a kid from one of Beverly Hills' wealthiest, most photographed families know about kids from disadvantaged circumstances?"
"You sure you wanna know? Most people prefer to avoid the hard topics."
"Do you want this job?"
"Yeah, I want this job."
"Then I want to know."
Without divulging the full details, Dylan told Adam the truth behind the McKay veneer and how he felt his life experience could translate to the swim coach job.
The talking portion of his interview was followed up by Dylan showing off his swimming skills, which Adam said was mere protocol since he already knew Dylan's talent.
Dylan took his second shower of the day in the locker room. He walked out into the hallway feeling more confident than he had upon entrance into Adam's office.
Until he opened the door to the theatre and saw Reina standing in the back, listening to Brenda.
"Well done, Miss Walsh," said her interviewer. "You are the first interviewee we've had who chose to expand your horizons beyond Shakespeare and Greek tragedies."
"Thank you." Brenda's smile outshone the stage lights around her.
"We'll likely be putting on a few musicals with the kids in the after-school program. Not that it's a requirement of the job, but if you are able to sing, that may help your chances."
"Any song? From the beginning?"
"Any song, from wherever you'd like to start."
Dylan racked his brain, trying to remember if he had ever heard Brenda sing.
She lip-synched at the Pit. Fuck, I never heard her sing? No, wait, she was Christine. You can't lip-sync your way through Christine, can you? You've gotta have major pipes for Christine.
But that was when she was in her thirties. She had vocal training at RADA. That's right, almost forgot about that. But she was insecure as fuck during that training.
Shit, I hope she can sing now, before RADA. C'mon, baby. You can do it. Just sing your heart out.
Reina, quit fucking staring at her!
Brenda's eyes scanned the room until they landed on Dylan.
Eyes lighting up, she began.
"If I loved you, words wouldn't come in an easy way," she sweetly sang, to Dylan. "'Round in circles I'd go! Longin' to tell you, but afraid and shy, I'd let my golden chances pass me by!"
Carousel. She's singing Carousel.
His throat constricted for the second time that day.
Bren, why are we watching this depressing as fuck movie? he had questioned.
Carousel is not depressing, she had said. It's beautiful.
A penniless guy gets murdered before his wife gives birth to their kid and you think that's beautiful? Not to mention he fucking hits her.
No, the beautiful part is how much she loved him, Dylan. Billy's not an easy man to love. It's a great tragedy of musicals. Billy doesn't realize how much he loves Julie until after they're separated by his death. Grandma loves this musical.
Which grandma is that? Walsh or Beevis?
Walsh, obviously. And besides, she had glanced up from her notetaking, it's part of my course assignment. Comparing the movie with the stage production.
We can make June bust out all over just fine in our own flat, he had said as he slid behind her.
Dylan, I'm never gonna get this assignment done.
Bren, you're the top student in your acting program. They've given you the lead for your Year Three production. A little break now and then won't hurt anything. Please, baby? I'm desperate.
Fine, but then you have to promise to let me finish watching.
Okay, promise, he had said, delving his tongue into her mouth as he had jumped over a laughing Brenda to unzip her jeans.
How long do we have 'til class again? he had asked.
Mm, she had fiddled with his hair, about two and a half hours. So I need to finish the movie now before I get the assignments from the next class.
Then allow me to show you the extent of my love for you, Miss Walsh. And I don't need a fucking angel jury to do it.
Oh, how mistaken he had been.
"Soon you'd leave me. Off you would go in the mist of day." Brenda's gaze switched from Dylan, to Reina. "Never, never to know." Back to Dylan. "How I loved you." Back to Reina. "If I loved you."
Brenda, why the hell are you looking at Reina like that?
"Thank you, Miss Walsh. You may go now. We'll be in further contact after we finish interviewing the other applicants."
"I look forward to hearing from you and thank you for this opportunity," said Brenda before she walked off of the stage.
Dylan waited for her outside the double doors. He aimed a deep-set frown at Reina.
"Interview went that badly?" Brandon asked as he approached.
"No, interview went great. Yours?"
"Pretty sure I got it, considering most of the other guys who showed up didn't even know what a camel spin is."
"You can do a camel spin?"
"It's super easy. Bren almost did a Salchow jump before she quit skating to focus on theatre."
"I didn't know that," said Dylan.
"I knew that," Reina piped in.
"Oh yeah?" said Dylan in a cutting tone. "And how did you know that?"
"Bren told me. Guess I know something about her you don't know."
Evidently sensing Dylan's temper start to rise, Brandon grabbed him by both arms. "Catch you around, Reina."
"Later, Walsh."
"Alright, D," Brandon said once they were outside, "what's going on?"
"I think your sister's falling for Reina." Dylan leant against the car. "And I'm not sure she even realizes it." He shoved down his bile.
"So? Thought you said Bren could be with whomever she wants."
"In theory."
"But in reality?"
In reality, it fucking hurts.
"In reality," Dylan sighed, "I don't know."
"You know she cares about you."
"What do you think about him? Reina, I mean."
"Dunno. Don't really know the guy. But I do know Bren still talks about you constantly, if that helps any."
"Somewhat." Dylan played with the buttons on his shirt. "You've been with a lot of chicks, Minnesota. Ever been with any you couldn't stand to think of with anyone else?"
"I wasn't too psyched about the idea of you and Sheryl, but honestly? No, not yet. Well -" Brandon hesitated.
Dylan gestured for him to go on.
"Keep this between us, okay?"
"How do you Boy Scouts do that Scout's Honor thing?" asked Dylan, who knew precisely how to do Scout's Honor after seeing Brandon signal it numerous times.
Brandon held his fingers up in the sign.
"Then yeah, that."
"I think I could like Stacey; I mean, really like Stacey. Maybe even - even love her. But Steve wants to claim her, too."
"Claim?"
"You heard him, bro. If one of his friends asked out Kelly, he'd feel betrayed."
"You like Kelly," said Dylan, unsurprised.
"Doesn't matter," said Brandon. "I screwed it up with her. Told her she's like another sister."
"That's the worst possible thing you could say to a girl."
"I know, but I tried the whole you're-my-friend's-ex thing, and Kelly wouldn't accept it. So then I pointed out that she's Bren's best friend, which she didn't care about 'cause she said you're my best friend and you still took out Bren."
"True," said Dylan.
"So basically, I like Kelly but I can't ask her out because of Steve and I like Stacey, but Steve's trying to ask her out and it's probably just to make Kelly jealous."
"Then let Sanders ask out Stacey."
"What?"
"Think about it, bro. Donna practically told Bren that Kelly was getting jealous over Steve and Stacey. So, let Sanders ask out Stacey, he and Kelly will work out their problems, and then you can ask out Stacey."
"Maybe," said Brandon, thinking it over. "What are you gonna do about Reina and my sister?"
"Nothing." Dylan kicked at the tiny rocks spread out on the blacktop.
"Nothing?"
Hello, what about my ticket to Alaska idea? He could go play with grizzly bears.
Yeah, we're not doing that.
"Nothing," Dylan confirmed. "If I do anything, it'll just make Bren think Reina's the better guy."
Forget Alaska. What about Louisiana? Lots of alligators for him to hang out with in Louisiana.
No.
"So what will you do?" asked Brandon.
"Let Bren figure out what she wants on her own," said Dylan.
"If what she wants is Reina?"
"Then I guess I'm in for a long wait."
So I guess Greenland's also out?
Reindeer. Musk ox. Artic fox. Any of those could turn on Reina if they feel he's a threat.
Quit it. Yes, Greenland's out. I'm not gonna be my fucking father just because Reina's driving me fucking insane. Getting rid of people is something Jack would do.
Like Mom.
Like Jack himself.
"You really think you met the girl you're gonna marry at sixteen, huh?" asked Brandon.
Then just ask Itero if there's another universe the fairies can toss Reina's ass into. He'd be fine. Wouldn't be harmed. Probably. Would just disappear.
Has anyone noticed I disappeared?
Did I disappear? Am I still there?
How the fuck does this shit work?
Dylan almost told Brandon about fifteen-year-old Brandon meeting the girl he had almost married, and who had miscarried his child.
"Stranger things have happened," Dylan replied instead.
I literally came back in time to be able to marry Bren someday, Bran. You think I'm gonna let Reina stop me?
"That went well!"
They turned to see Brenda emerge out of the theatre, Reina holding her purse.
Dylan beelined forward to take her tote bag.
"Thanks, guys," she said. "Oh Dyl, Emilio and I have to get to practice, so raincheck on the swim?"
"Sure." He regarded Reina's proximity to Brenda. "Can I come watch?"
"Sorry, Dyl. It's a closed rehearsal. But I can meet you at the Pit later, before the gang gets together to go over the plans for Andrea's surprise birthday party. Does that work?"
"How about I pick you up from rehearsal and we can head over to Donna's together?"
"Sounds good." Brenda's lips swiped over his cheek.
Pulling her against him, Dylan briefly opened his eyes to deliver a smug smile in Reina's direction.
"Ready for our kiss scene, Bren?" Reina's unexpected question vaporized Dylan's triumph with words alone.
"Ki - kiss scene?" he stuttered. "What kiss scene?"
"Well, the play says they danced, but Chris wanted Emilio and I to bring out more passion with Titania and Oberon, so Emilio and I have to do a kissing scene. Not sure it'll make it to the stage. We'll probably just do one of those fake Hollywood ones."
"Yeah, one of those fake Hollywood ones," Reina pointedly echoed.
"I see," Dylan said, as calmly as possible.
Internally, he was raging.
You are as cool as a glacier; no, not a glacier, that would mean you don't care. Uh. Cool as an icebox. Shit, same thing. Cucumber? Cliché. Wave on a hot summer day. No, that wipes everything anew. Popsicle in August. You'll melt. Cool as a - well, I don't know what the fuck you're as cool as that still means you care, but c'mon man, get it together. Bren had kissing scenes in London. It never mattered to you until she had one with Manzano, and that was more to do with the way he was always eyeing her than whether or not you trusted Bren.
You do trust Bren; right?
Of course I trust Bren. It's fucking Reina I don't trust.
"Don't worry, McKay. I'll take good care of her."
I bet you will, asswipe.
Dylan shot a visual bullseye on Reina as Reina walked off with Brenda.
"Didn't you say you two were friends once?" asked Brandon, shutting the trunk where he had placed his gym bag.
"Does that look like a friend to you?"
"And that's your old friend, D. See why I had to turn down Kelly?"
"Yeah." Dylan crossed his arms. "I get it."
"Should I take you back to your place?"
"No. Let's head over to the Pit. I need a friggin' cooldown after that."
"What kind of a cooldown?"
"I'm gonna ask Nat if I can clean the grease traps."
"You are?" asked Brandon, gobsmacked.
"One day, I might be part-owner of the Pit, you know. Never too early to learn how to maintain it."
"Okay, McKay. If you own part of the Pit, I want a slice of it."
"Deal, Walsh," Dylan said, climbing into the car.
"I'd be happy to show you how to clean the grease traps, assuming Nat will let me back behind the counter."
"Why wouldn't he?"
"You haven't met shining waitress of the Peach Pit, Courtney? Even asks your ice preference."
"B, are you seriously jealous over a girl's waitressing skills?"
"Maybe."
"You aren't happy at the beach club?"
"No, I am, and I like Henry, but I." Brandon abruptly ended his sentence, focusing on the road.
"But?"
"But I miss Nat and the Pit."
"You see Nat all the time."
"It's not the same."
Dylan opened his mouth to reply when a sight near one of the passing buildings snatched his attention.
"Wait, is that Felice Martin walking into that building?" he asked. "Donna's mom?"
"Can't be." Brandon briefly glanced out the window. "'Cause I'm pretty sure that's Rush Sanders. Steve's dad. Haven't met him, but I've seen the news clippings about him."
"Yeah, that's Rush. I remember from when he'd come over to talk business with Jack."
Half-truth. Rush had been an acquaintance of Jack's back in the day, but that wasn't when Dylan had seen him.
"Right," said Brandon. "I forgot you've all known each other for forever."
If Dylan had learnt anything over the years, it didn't matter who one had known the longest. It mattered who had been there in the moments of uncertainty, self-loathing, hardship.
With the faux death of his father, it had been the Walshes and David Silver who had helped him through. He had heard how Brandon took care of the bungalow when Dylan had skipped town after Toni's murder.
And Brenda had sewn him back together, until he splintered once more.
Then it had been a second near-death experience that had slapped him into pulling himself back together.
Driving his car off of the highway whilst Brenda was at RADA. Going into another coma after he had left Brenda.
His drug addiction had been responsible for both, but Dylan thought the absence of Brenda hadn't helped matters.
She had always saved him from himself. If she was going to wander away from him and temporarily towards Reina, then Dylan would need to figure out how to rely on Brenda less to avoid another bottom dropping out from under him.
Maybe then, he could focus more on being there for her, as she had repeatedly been for him.
"Haven't you known anyone for forever, B?"
"Yeah. Val. Kids back in Minnesota. The people Bren and I know there come from families who have been acquainted with our mom's family for generations."
"Kinda like here," said Dylan. "Amongst the wealthy elites of Beverly Hills, that is. Jack went to school with Rush. Boarding school. Lived in the same neighborhood. Donna's mom went to some all-girls school, but she grew up on Jack's street."
Steve had shared that information with the gang in later years, having learnt it from Rush shortly before Rush had been diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's disease, more commonly known as ALS.
"What about Kelly's parents?" Brandon asked.
"New money," said Dylan. "Her dad made his fortune in the '60s, but here, that's still considered new money. The McKays, the Sanderses, Mrs. Martin's family; that's old money. Until the '80s, the old money of Beverly Hills never mixed with the new money."
"I guess I don't get why it's such a big deal," said Brandon.
"You and me both."
Someday, B, I'm getting the hell out of this elitist zip code, and I'm taking your sister with me.
Bren doesn't need Beverly Hills, but Beverly Hills needs her.
I need her.
"So basically, it's possible Rush and Felice have known each other since they were kids?" Brandon asked.
"Yeah, I guess. You don't think…?"
"Donna's mom and Steve's dad? No." Brandon considered it. "Surely not. Isn't she hardcore Catholic?"
"What does that have to do with it?"
"Well, they used to tell us in Sunday school that 'thou shalt not commit adultery' and I'm pretty sure that would be considered adultery. I think Catholics follow the same commandments Presbyterians do. So Donna's mom breaking one of the biggest commandments would be beyond crazy."
Oh, Brandon couldn't even begin to fathom the kind of crazy Dylan knew existed in the universe.
"Not 'cause she's Catholic, but because she uses her Catholicism to control Donna," Brandon finished.
"You've noticed that, huh?"
"Yeah. Don's been at the house a lot lately. Hard not to notice."
"Guess she and Bren are getting pretty close?"
"Put it this way, Jones: it wasn't even two months ago when Bren mentioned her best friend Kelly every other line. Not sure what happened, but now it's Donna this and Donna that."
Uh, it's possible me coming back might've had something to do with that, B.
Unless Bren and Kelly argued over Donna in the old life.
"Maybe it's all the time they're spending together in drama," said Dylan.
"Maybe."
If fairies could rewrite time, then perhaps Felice Martin could hook up with Rush Sanders.
That's revolting. I'm gonna hurl. Swear you'll never think about that again.
Would you rather think of Brenda and Reina making out in their kiss scene?
Fuck no. Can't believe you just put that image into my brain. Asshole. I'd punch the shit out of you if I wouldn't just be punching myself.
Then what should we think about?
London. February nineteen ninety and seven. Long before K2. Snuggled up in a large blanket with Brenda by their fireplace. A large mug of coffee for him. A cup of dark hot chocolate with extra marshmallows for her. One of the last poems he'd written, held in her hands.
Emitting the voice of a nightingale she had never permitted him to hear until he returned to July of ninety ninety and one, decades before she would sing to Ernesto Manzano.
And Emilio Reina, thousands of miles across the ocean in the code both Dylan and his girl had escaped.
-x
Dylan has now begun to wonder if anyone realised he disappeared, or if he disappeared. Anyone else wondering? If BD are connected to the point that the faerie world intervened to ensure their reunions, did Dylan's possible disappearance cause Brenda to disappear? If other universes and time periods exist in the chronicles of B and D, should they also be explored for our favourite couple, maybe by Brenda?
What do you think, dear readers?
Got the feeling from the series that Jack and Rush might be old money, I believe Felice was canonically old money, and Bill/Jackie always seemed new money with Bill's business plus Jackie's modelling career. If the series touched on any of this, it has honestly escaped me; at the very least, Itero may have changed that, too.
Translations- mi corazón: my heart, señor: mister, sí: yes, aquí: here, mira: look, por siempre y para siempre: forever and always. Between McKay and Reina, there may be quite a bit of Spanish in Itero.
As always, thanks a million for the readership, reviews, follows, favourites, alerts, discourse, plot ideas, etc. Stay healthy and safe out there. x