She knew, without a trace of doubt, that she had never been more in love.
She loved his hair. The crinkle of his nose. His wide, explorative eyes. The way his skin felt against hers. The way he continuously danced to an unheard rhythm.
His smile, meant only for her. His laugh. His smell, most of the time.
Even the tiny little bubbles that pooled at the corners of his mouth when he gurgled, or the sleepless nights she now dealt with regularly.
She loved it all.
"May I?" asked Nuala.
"Certainly," said Brenda, carefully setting the dozing Aiden into her friend's arms with a gently swiped kiss over his forehead.
Aiden stirred in his sleep, but did not appear disturbed by the movement.
"Hello, little love," said Nuala. "By God, Brenda, but he is beautiful. I am ever so sorry I wasn't here to assist in the birth."
"You could not have possibly known," said Brenda.
"But Diolún knew," said Nuala with a conspiratorial smile. "He felt it, didn't he?"
"I was blessed to have him here," said Brenda, certain a blush had spread through her cheeks. "I could not have borne either of my sons without his calming spirit."
"His calming spirit indeed," said Nuala, who did little to hide her displayed thoughts on Brenda's true inner feelings.
Diolún had promised to not leave Brenda's side, and in the week since the birth, he had fulfilled that promise.
He had carried Brenda into the Buckley wagon mere minutes after Daragh Buckley had returned the morning after the storm, Nuala had said. Brenda herself had been lost to the world, deep in the realm of dreams as her body healed itself from her wearisome labor.
He had held Aiden whilst Doc Haloran cut the umbilical cord and checked over Brenda. She had awoken in the following days to Diolún who had confessed that he had been frightened she would not, despite the doctor's assurances. What followed had been a devastating conversation, one Brenda could not have possibly faced alone.
They buried Liam beneath the shade of a willow tree beside the graves of Diolún's parents, for Nuala believed the McKays would help to preserve the soul of little Liam to ensure he had been taken to the Lord.
Diolún had lifted an arm, waiting until Brenda collapsed into his chest when the sobs had wracked her petite frame and threatened to send her rolling down the hill.
She wondered if Connor would come across their son's grave, in the future, and ponder the relation of Liam Monaghan to himself.
She had her doubts, as Monaghan was not an uncommon name.
Aiden, she called both Monaghan and Walsham - he and Liam remained Walsh-Monaghans, in her mind. The general consensus between the Buckleys and the McKay brothers was to refer to Aiden simply as a Walsham.
"Nuala," said Brenda, "the times I have gone into town, I have seen papers handed out to passersby advertising the Ladies' Land League. Do you know of the league?"
"Ay," said Nuala, "I am well-acquainted."
"Can you tell me its purpose?"
Nuala explained that the Ladies' Land League had been a short-lived organization from the previous decade, providing supplies to evicted families. It had been poorly received by the press, as well as Catholic and Protestant churches alike, and had been made illegal in the year following its creation.
"Then someone is attempting to bring it back?" asked Brenda.
"Would appear so," said Nuala.
Brenda had considered joining the league, and was dismayed to learn she would need to figure out another way to help in the fight for both Irish nationalism and the Irish suffragette movement.
She knew she could not live in the conditions of the past, raise her child in the conditions of the past, without joining those who had sought to improve the future.
"Do you remember -" Nuala paused and frowned, "no, I don't suppose you would."
"Do I remember what?" asked Brenda, lifting Aiden when he began to fuss.
"I forget myself sometimes," said Nuala. "It is easy to reminisce about our childhood, but you cannot."
"Please." Brenda set her hand on Nuala's bony arm. "I would like to know."
"Very well," said Nuala. "I was thinking back to when our Mas and Das brought us up to the cliffs in Clare. We were no more than eight at the time, I believe. You looked out across the ocean, stretched out for miles and not a bit of land seen from it, and announced you would one day travel across. Your aim was Iceland, if I recall correctly. You had planned to join a band of Vikings. I told you you could not join the Vikings, or Diolún and I would be beside ourselves with worry. You said we would simply join you."
Clear images weaved into Brenda's mind, of the Buckleys and the Walshams picnicking with what little nourishment they had been able to afford. The extended family of the Walshams had left Ireland during the Great Famine that had ended during the previous decade, several years before the birth of Brenda Walsham. Brenda Walsham, unlike Brenda Walsh, had never known any of her relations, and the Buckleys had become family to every Walsham. They were often seen together, Brenda soaring across the oceanic countryside of West Cork on the back of her horse as Nuala tried to keep up with her.
The weather along the Cliffs of Moher had been especially fickle that day, shifting from dreary, chilled rain to clear skies, much in the same way it had done when Brenda Walsh visited the cliffs with a handful of her theatre friends precisely one hundred and ten years later.
Brenda, too, had stood on the cliffs and looked out over the expansive ocean, trying to catch a glimpse of land.
The Walshams and Buckleys, however, encountered few tourists, as opposed to the throngs of tourists that would visit the cliffs when Brenda Walsh had.
This is too fucking confusing, thought Brenda. She decided she would, in her musings, refer to Brenda Walsham as Troil, the surname of the Brenda in Sir Walter Scott's The Pirate.
She wondered if Troil were also literate, and had also read the works of Sir Walter Scott.
"Bréanainn, of course, said you were too small to join the Vikings," continued Nuala with a tiny laugh. "He said you would get underfoot of a Viking and we would never see you again. None of us realized at the time that the Vikings were long disbanded."
"Bréanainn?" asked Brenda.
Nuala's face clouded over. "Your brother," she said, and then would say no more.
Brenda opened her mouth to get more information out of Nuala when the door swung open and grabbed her attention.
"Ah, a fine morning it is when I walk in to see my favorite lasses. How is the wee lad today?"
As if he knew he were being asked about, Aiden moved his head.
Diolún grabbed hold of Aiden's clenched fist, beginning their daily playtime.
"A bit fussy," said Brenda. "The night was long."
"Is a visit to the Doc in order?" asked Diolún, examining Aiden.
"I do not believe so," said Brenda. "It was the rain. Aiden seemed quite bothered by the rain."
"Does it not rain in Boston?"
"It does," said Brenda. "It did not rain much whilst I carried him and his brother."
That was an outright lie, for it had rained the normal amount in Cork from the day she had learnt of the twins to the night she had met Arís.
Brenda thought it was undoubtedly a lie regarding Boston weather, as well; though, in Boston's case, it perhaps would have been feet of snow.
"Ay," said Diolún, "perhaps he is remembering the solemnity within the barn. He will become used to the rain."
If it rained half as much in that century as it had in the next, then Brenda knew that her son would indeed become accustomed to the rain.
Cork would often rain for most of the day, then find the sun until just before it set. Brenda had heard that Ireland used to see many sunnier days than she had experienced. Whether that had occurred in the time of the Walshams or before, she did not know.
Aiden's head lifted towards the collar of Diolún's long-sleeved, cambric shirt.
"Should I?" he asked.
"Please. He will start to suck at the necklace if he is refused."
Given the value of the necklace to Diolún's family and to Brenda's own, she rarely went a day without wearing it. She had extended the chain, tucking it further beneath her clothing for it to be out of Aiden's eyeline.
"Well, we can't have that. Come here, me boy." Setting his hand beneath Aiden's head, Diolún raised Aiden into his arms. "Bren, have ye any plans for the day?"
"In the afternoon," she said.
"Then ye are free this morning?"
Brenda looked questioningly at Nuala.
"He is asking if you are available," smiled Nuala.
"Do you need help with the chores?" asked Brenda. "Doc Haloran did say I could return to chores if I felt strength enough to handle them, and I assure you I do."
"It is not a bother," said Nuala. Her eyes gestured for Brenda to go with Diolún. "I can handle the chore list without issue."
"If you are sure," Brenda hesitated.
"I am," said Nuala.
"Then I will bring the Walshams back by midday." Helping Brenda to stand from her chair, Diolún snagged the wrap she had knotted together to allow her to carry Aiden.
Prams and buggies had become the main carrier for infants in recent years. Brenda preferred to hold her son the way mothers had done in the past and would continue to do, despite advances in infant travel.
Aiden, however, remained content in Diolún's hold and began to cry when Brenda attempted to retrieve him.
"It would seem you have a way with infants," said Brenda in a casual manner so that Diolún would not deduce how the sight affected her ovaries, her heart, or a laundry list of other organs.
"Or perhaps just with Walshams." A sparkle jigged through Diolún's eyes as he drank in Aiden. "Ye were never keen on releasing me, either."
"And you?"
"Would have held onto ye forever, through storms and quietude, days of sun and days of strife."
Though she knew she shouldn't, Brenda traced her thumb over the lump shown through Diolún's neck.
It was becoming difficult for Brenda to stick to her mission. She had determined the reason she had been brought to meet Diolún McKay; for, though she knew Arís had not intended to send her to his time period, Brenda did not think it a coincidence that she had been.
She believed she was to reunite him and the real Brenda Walsham, however one went about doing so.
She just had to not fall for Diolún herself, in the meantime.
I'm a married woman, in love with my ex who's in love with my ex-BFF. My love life's complicated enough without adding a dead guy to the mix.
Even if that dead guy is fucking beautiful. Speaks with the lips of a poet. Looks at me with those eyes of unconditional love.
And fuck, the way he holds Aiden…
Brenda! Don't go there, babe. He's not yours, just like Dylan's not yours. Diolún doesn't love you. He only thinks he loves you. His heart belongs to Brenda Walsham. You are not Brenda Walsham. If he knew you have pretended to be his Brenda…
But if Troil no longer exists, wouldn't it be worse for Diolún to spend the rest of his life pining over a memory?
On the other hand, if Troil did still exist, Brenda Walsh would feel horrible taking the living woman's great love.
Troil may very well be deceased herself, for all I know. Diolún searched for her and didn't find her. How the fuck am I gonna find her?
Brenda wondered the consequences of inventing an electric programmable computer and the World Wide Web decades before either were meant to be created.
Oh, don't make me laugh. You, invent the Internet? That's a good one.
That last thought had come to her in Brandon's voice.
"I would give the Sun every bit of the world's currency for a glimpse into that mind of yours." Diolún startled Brenda out of her musings.
"It is nothing."
"Nothing, from the mind of the woman who tried to invent her own flying machine? I do not believe yer mind consists of nothing, Bren. It is, perhaps, the cleverest mind I have encountered in my travels; certainly ahead of its time."
"I tried to invent my own flying machine?"
"Ay. Yer poor Ma. She was convinced ye had made it yer mission in life to frighten her."
"Frighten her? Did I succeed?"
"If nearly barreling into a tree is succeeding, then aye, ye succeeded."
"Were my Ma and I on good terms? Before," Brenda's voice dropped, "before the ship?"
"Ye were," said Diolún. "Ye were not always, but ye were then."
"I remembered what happened to her," said Brenda. "Ma did not adjust well to life on the sea. We had barely left Ireland when illness took her."
"That does not surprise me," said Diolún, though his response was gentle. "Yer Ma had always been more of a city girl."
"Then Da was from here, in West Cork, and Ma was from the city?"
"Belfast," said Diolún. "Ye told me once yer Ma hailed from Belfast."
"I should like to visit Belfast."
"Then I will take ye; ye and Aiden, one day." Diolún grew solemn-faced. "Bren, the night of the storm, I made ye a promise."
"Yes," said Brenda, "you promised to not leave me, and you have followed through. Aiden and I are in your debt."
"Neither ye, nor yer son, owe me anything. I am afraid with my travels, I cannot keep that promise as well as I would like. It has crossed my mind on numerous occasions in the week past to invite you aboard the ship, but -"
"- but Aiden is small and the journey rough," said Brenda, her mind again out of sync with her heart. "And Liam, he lies here, beyond the glen."
"Ay," said Diolún, nodding gravely.
"When will you leave?"
"Before the winter rains."
"How long will you be gone?"
"I cannot say. My work is unpredictable. I do try to return home every few months, but it cannot always be so."
"Then Aiden and I will simply require that you write us, frequently."
"I cannot write in English," said Diolún, upset at his confession. "Ye may not recall, but the schoolmaster was most displeased with my inability to learn that basic of lessons. Ye tried to teach me. It did not help."
"But you can write?"
"Ay. In the language forbidden by the schools."
"In the schools?"
Brenda had heard Irish had been forbidden everywhere.
Diolún explained that there had been many attempts to outlaw the Irish language, but it had only been effectively outlawed in the national schools of Ireland. It was, however, a confined language now spoken by pockets of the Irish. English was seen as a language of the finely educated Irish, such as the Buckleys and the Walshams, whilst the Irish language continued to prosper primarily amongst the communities of poor farmers who had remained despite the atrocities inflicted upon them during the Great Famine.
The Walshes, Brenda knew, had also remained throughout the Great Famine. Hundreds of thousands of others had left in droves, spreading to every corner of the world and taking many Irish speakers along.
Brenda longed to tell Diolún that his beloved country would become one of the hottest tourist spots. She wanted to tell him about the international impact of St Patrick's Day, or Paddy's Day; that Chicago would dye its river green in honor, that Boston would hold an annual parade. She especially wanted to tell him of the millions of people who would visit Ireland with a heritage they claimed was Irish, or of the fact that Diolún's language would someday be taught in Ireland's schools.
Diolún would have been pleased to know of Connor's study of Irish for most of his schooling, that students could attend university programs focused on Irish, that even universities of the United States offered studies of Irish culture and language.
He would have been delighted to know that in less than a century, Ireland would be a free republic.
Brenda could tell Diolún nothing of the sort and so, she remained silent.
"Then write to us in the language of my fathers," she said, "and I will learn to read the words."
"I could try my hand at English again -"
"That is unnecessary. You write in Irish. I insist you continue to write in Irish, to help preserve the language. Lucas; does he know Irish?"
"Not as well as I, but he does."
"And Lucas will be staying here?"
"I have his word that he will remain in Corcaigh, to look out for you and Aiden when I cannot."
"Then I will ask him to read the letters to me. As I learn the language, so will my son. Perhaps, eventually, I will be able to write to you in Irish, myself."
"Ye are truly one of a kind, Brenda Walsham." Diolún's demeanor had dramatically lightened. "Ye have time to change yer mind about the travelling. Whether or not ye join me, there is something I hope ye will permit me to do before I leave." He swept her over a fallen branch, leftover debris from the storm.
Brenda had been too caught up in watching Diolún to notice the branch herself, and was grateful for his impeccable timing.
The issue was, her lips were now able to feel his quickened breaths upon them.
Troil, Brenda reminded herself, he is Troil's. Not mine.
No McKay is mine: Dylan, Diolún, or any others that may have once existed.
"Watch yourself," Diolún said with a slight chuckle. His enticing eyes lingered over hers.
Then, without further pause, he returned her feet to the solid ground.
Perhaps on cue, Aiden began to beckon for his mother's breast.
Brenda reclaimed her son from Diolún. Ever the gentleman, Diolún provided them privacy until Brenda announced that Aiden had feasted to satisfaction.
Holding Aiden against her shoulder with one hand set against his back, Brenda glanced around the empty meadow.
"This place," she said, as if in a stupor, "this is the land my father's fathers once owned, is it not?"
"It is," said Diolún. "We - we would…"
We would picnic here, thought Brenda, if you could call cold mush a picnic.
Diolún cleared his throat.
"I have saved enough that I have been able to purchase a small portion of this land. I plan to build a cabin upon it. It will not be much, I fear - no more than two rooms, until I am able to afford additions - but it will be home."
Diolún had once told me - once told Troil - that someday, he would buy this land and return it to me - Troil.
By Go - shit, don't lose your modern slang, girl; my God, he actually did.
"That is wonderful," said Brenda.
"I would like to build the cabin for ye."
She stuttered, drew a breath, and tried again. "I cannot possibly accept that," she said.
"Ye told Nuala ye would like to move into a place of yer own, did ye not?"
"I was unaware anyone else had heard."
Lucas had, and had told Diolún of Brenda's intent to secure a job of her own.
"I do not discourage ye from working," said Diolún. "Nor do I want to see ye strain yourself to provide a home for yer family when I am already planning to build one."
"But you were planning to build it for yourself -"
"Ye need it far more often than I do. I am telling ye as more of a courtesy, Brenda, so that it will not appear that I began preparation without yer knowledge, but I will insist that the house come into yer possession. It is the way I will keep my promise when I am not around. I ask that ye please accept, but ye will be given this gift even if ye do not."
"I do not know what to say," said Brenda, grappling for flowery words of appreciation.
"Say ye will accept."
Though she hesitated for quite a while, well into the evening, the next day and the day following, Brenda eventually told Diolún that she accepted his offer.
On one condition: he would lodge with her and Aiden whenever he was down in Cork; or, Corcaigh, as Diolún and the Irish language called it.
"I do not care what others may think about it," said Brenda before Diolún could attempt a protest. "You cared for me after my fall. You helped to bring my children into the world. I have been told you remained by my side following the birth, and you have held me whilst I grieve over my Liam. You have now provided me with a home. The least you can allow me to do for you is to provide you with accommodation."
"As ye have accepted my offer, so, too, will I accept yours." Diolún's dimples danced.
Though a job was no longer required for securing a home outside of the Buckley residence, Brenda still sought work. Dressmaking was out of the question, for Brenda could not sew worth a damn. Anything dealing with numbers, she could do, but would loathe the work. There was nannying, or serving as a maid for one of the estates of the English elite. She, Brenda Walsh, would have accepted a position in an estate, if not for the feeling that came over her of being a traitor to Diolún, the Walshams and even her ancestral Walshes.
Brenda considered becoming a nurse, then decided against it when she realized the trouble that could befall her if she made diagnoses of illnesses that were not yet named, especially in the field of mental health.
She had a way with children, an excellent grasp on grammar, and had tied with Brandon in their SAT scores. Therefore, though she would immensely miss acting, Brenda decided to study to be a teacher.
She would return to acting, she was sure; when Aiden was a bit older, perhaps.
By that time, the Irish Literary Society which had just been established in London in the spring would be bringing actors to the London stage. Brenda knew from her perusing of the local library when she first moved to Cork that in a year's time, Bloomsbury House would publish Douglas Hyde's lecture which would lead to the creation of the Gaelic League. The Gaelic League would permit the entrance of women, and Brenda fully intended to join.
But that wasn't until the following year. In the meantime, Brenda had to find other ways to occupy herself, and to fight for the country that had become her home.
It was Connor's country. It was her son's country. It was her grandfather's country. She was determined to participate just as much in its battle for independence as if she had been swept in time to the late eighteenth century in America.
London had grasped Brenda's heart from the moment she had stepped off of the tube from Heathrow, and still had her heart. Ireland; it had her soul, something she didn't know it would snatch hold of when she decided she needed a fresh start from the heartbreaking memories that had occurred within her London flat.
She had remained in London for a year after Dylan's departure before she met Connor Monaghan, a Cork lad studying film in Glasgow who decided to attend a concert in Manchester with his brother and brother's then-girlfriend.
They didn't exchange phone numbers. Brenda walked away from the night, assuming she would forget about Connor Monaghan. When she was offered an acting position in the theatre of Cork later that year, she was startled to literally run into Connor in the stalls of the English Market.
In the beginning, he had served as an excellent distraction from the pain Brenda continued to feel over her breakup with Dylan.
She could have never fathomed that meeting Connor would eventually lead her into the home of a past Dylan, who had grown up a close drive from where Connor had.
"Diolún," she said after dinner that evening, "the reason we decided to leave." Brenda had tried to formulate the words for over a week that struggled to come. "Was I - I mean, I believe - well, I dreamt that - oh, never you take mind."
He glanced up from the Irish section of the newspaper that he had been reading to Aiden. "Were ye what?"
"In the barn, when you were surprised I had never borne children. You expected to hear that I had?"
"Ay." His voice was barely audible.
"Because you and I; we were…" she drifted off.
He stared at her for a moment, and then gave a swift, lugubrious nod of his head.
The tiny movement was enough to cause Brenda to stay on task.
Because she not only had to reunite Diolún with Troil, the woman he had crossed the ocean and scoured the United States to find.
She had to reunite him with their child, too.
Assuming Troil had given Diolún a child with which to reunite.
Brenda's resolve slipped momentarily when she caught Diolún, deep in sleep with Aiden lying upon his chest.
Tiptoeing outside to avoid waking Diolún, Brenda brought Aiden to the fence that separated the end of the road from the sea.
As they watched the tide roll in, Brenda pointed across the ocean, telling her son of a land called California and another named Minnesota. She told Aiden of his father, his uncles, his aunt Val, his grandparents and, before the last light of day flickered to signal Brenda return to the Buckleys' or risk stumbling into trees in the shadow of the moon, even a man she had once known.
A writer of the twentieth century, named Dylan McKay.
Who had crossed time itself with the help of the fairies, to be reunited with the woman he loved.
That the woman wasn't her and that he had instead chosen to erase their love story from his memories was a detail she decided Aiden didn't need to hear.
xx
The rock formations were fuzzy. The trees were fuzzy. The sky was fuzzy.
Hell, every fucking thing on the planet was fuzzy, as Dylan fought to remove himself from K2 before Brenda suffered the same fate that befell Wilhelm Schneider.
He could hear Donna urging Brandon. He could hear Brandon encouraging Brenda.
He could hear both of those things, but the voices were garbled, in the manner of one whose ears have been claimed by an excess of chlorine.
Donna yelled incoherently. There was movement, a shuffle, a shadow, an unzipping sound, and then, Dylan was fucking freezing.
Not from K2, however.
He yelped as he dropped the ice cubes.
"Good thing we got ice, huh?" grinned David, returning the open bag of ice to his backpack.
Relieved to have been catapulted into the present and away from his traumatizing memories, Dylan sprang into action.
"Brenda!" he yelled. "Bren, can you hear me?"
When no response was given, Dylan screamed out her name again.
"She can hear you," yelled Brandon. "She's using all her strength to hang on to my hand."
"Okay." Dylan thought quickly. "You see anything? Like an arête? A dihedral? A crevasse? Something Bren can grab hold of until I can climb down and get her?"
"You're not climbing down," said Brandon, though Dylan knew the words were Brenda's.
"I'm not leaving you down there, Bren," said Dylan.
"She's right," said David. "You can't risk it."
"I have to risk it," said Dylan.
"Bren says she'll never talk to you again if you risk it," said Brandon.
"If you risk it, we might need someone to rescue you," said David.
And if I don't risk it, Bren may never exist at all, Dylan mentally shouted.
Dammit, Brenda! Why you gotta be so fucking stubborn?
"Fine, Bren. You win," said Dylan, despite his annoyance.
"Have you got it from here?" asked David. "I can run and get a ranger to call for a rescue squad."
"Yeah," said Dylan. "I've got this. You go. Hurry. And make sure you avoid the edges."
David swore he would.
Dylan spread out on the rock beside Donna, avoiding the edge himself. "Did you find something, B?" he called.
"We found a crevasse," said Brandon. "I'm gonna try to swing Bren a little closer. Let's hope all those dance classes of hers paid off."
"Just don't swing her unless you know she'll be able to catch on!" said Dylan.
If it were not for his harried breaths, he would assume his oxygen supply had been slashed.
This was his fault, he told himself. He had changed too much, and for that, the universe had decided to dish out to him a consequence.
Brandon should have been the only one hanging onto that cliff-face.
Not Brenda.
Never Brenda.
Not that Dylan had wanted Brandon to slide off of a cliff, either.
In fact, if Dylan had had his way, none of them would have slid off of a cliff this time.
A cliff that shuddered bits of clay into the shrouded depths below, towards what seemed to be the screech of a hawk.
A shoe sailed through the air; Brandon's shoe, if any part of history had repeated.
"Bren?" shouted Dylan when the twins' silence had lasted too long to be comfortable. "Baby! Silence is not an option right now. I need you to keep me informed!"
"She's safe, D," Brandon assured him. "We got her to the crevasse. She'll be alright there until help comes. As alright as she can be, anyway."
Dylan would have preferred for Brenda to be safe in his arms, but if that was the best they could do for her until an experienced rescue team arrived, he would grudgingly accept it.
"Can you pull yourself up?" he asked.
"Do I look like a weightlifter?" asked Brandon, finding the humor in a grim situation. "If I had something to bounce off of like on the court then, maybe, but…"
Dylan understood the unspoken words.
"Maybe you should get Steve," said Brandon. "He's the muscles of the group."
Dylan looked at Donna. "We don't need Steve." He instructed Donna to continue holding onto Brandon's hand, as Dylan grabbed hold of Brandon's arm.
Together, slowly, they pulled Brandon up, seconds before the edge crumbled that his hand had clung to.
"Brandon." Donna threw herself at him, grasping at his neck. "Thank God you're okay."
Dylan pulled Brandon into a firm embrace of his own, relieved that the universe had once more prevented Brandon Walsh from falling to his death in Yosemite.
Dylan could only be half-grateful to the universe; less than half, for he was enraged with it more than anything.
"We need to get you looked over," said Donna, examining Brandon. "Those cuts look really bad."
"I can't leave Bren," he said.
"If Bren were standing here, she'd tell you the same thing," said Dylan. "Go. I'll stay with Bren."
"I won't be gone long," said Brandon. "Donna, you wanna stay with Bren, too?"
"Of course I do," said Donna, "but I don't trust you to walk over to the campsite by yourself without sliding down again, and I'm sure Bren wants me to keep an eye on you."
Dylan knew Donna had crafted an excuse to give him time alone with Brenda, which he appreciated.
He asked how the twins had ended up on the cliff-face in the first place.
There had been a rockfall when they had started to bring back Donna, said Brandon.
"I was on the edge," said Donna. "Bren pulled me back from it and then the ground she was on crumbled."
"The ground I was also on," said Brandon. "Brenda went down first. I was right behind her and did the only thing I could think of at the time: grabbed the edge and grabbed her hand."
He had been terrified he would dislocate Brenda's shoulder, but he had been more terrified of watching her fall.
"That was some good thinking, Walsh," said Dylan.
"Not as good as yours," said Brandon. "Bren's alive and it's thanks to you."
"And I'm alive thanks to Bren," said Donna. "I owe her, bigtime."
"Bren would say you don't owe her a thing," said Dylan. "And she doesn't owe me a thing," he told Brandon. "My girl was in trouble. In your case, Donna, Bren did what she did because you're her friend and you were in trouble."
"I guess," said Donna. "I didn't know this summer would teach me who my real friends are."
"This summer is teaching us a lot," said Brandon.
"You can say that again," said Dylan.
Donna dragged Brandon off, leaving Dylan to his makeshift bed dug into the rock.
It wasn't exactly how he pictured sleeping with Brenda under the stars, but he had to admit the glittering night sky looked stunning.
"Brenda!" he called out, palms flattened against the rock.
"Down here, Dylan," came the weak voice.
"I'm staying right here, okay, baby? As long as it takes."
"I'm so cold," she said.
"That's your body going into shock, Bren," he said. "You gotta stay alert, okay? Help's on its way."
"How's Brandon?"
"Shaken up and worried about you."
"How's Donna?"
"Also worried about you, but well otherwise. She took Brandon to get checked out. You're a hero for saving her, Bren, but next time, can you maybe save our friend without risking your life?"
"I'll try to remember that," she said. "So Donna took my brother to get checked out?"
"Yeah. I think he likes her."
"I think she likes him."
"I don't think he knows it."
"I don't think either of them know it."
Dylan told Brenda the option was still open for him to climb down to her himself, which she strongly vetoed.
"Romeo would do it," he said.
"Romeo also drank poison," said Brenda in a stutter, "and if you ever…drank poison for me…I'd kill you before it took effect."
Her choppy sentence both silenced Dylan's insistence and ended their days as the personification of Montague and Capulet.
Brenda asked Dylan to tell her the places he would bring her on their future travels. He named off every state, then every city and country he could think of to ensure she remained alert.
Brenda told him of the states she had already visited, along with the states she had no desire to visit again.
"Do you think I was Irish in another life?" she asked, to his bewilderment.
"It's possible," he said. "I mean, your family's Irish."
"Yeah, but that's not what I mean," she said. "I mean I keep getting these dreams about Ireland…when I've never been there. I see your face..but with different hair…much different clothing. And we have a son…I think. Aiden."
Aidan.
Brandon's Facebook post hinting about Brenda's twins.
Nicola's comment had mentioned the name Aidan, a character she apparently loved from the HBO network's Sex and the City.
Brandon had responded to joke that Nicola was only interested in Aidan due to the fact that he was played by the actor John Corbett, to which Val chimed in to say she, Brenda, and Nicola required a John Corbett marathon, stat, beginning with a film called Serendipity. Nicola said that had less to do with John Corbett and more to do with John Cusack, whom Dylan knew primarily as the voice of a character in the Madster's favorite animated film, Anastasia.
No.
Had to be a coincidence.
Plenty of guys were named Aidan, some of whom might be Irish and might pop up in Brenda's dream.
"Is it like the visions?" inquired Dylan. "Catching a fish in Ireland?"
"It's more than that," said Brenda. "The visions are…just a momentary flash. This is extended, like…like an extended scene in a director's cut. I can't really describe it."
"Try, baby," he urged. "If it will keep you talking, if it will keep you with me, then try."
Dylan battled the exhaustion that seeped through his brain, telling himself that Brenda would not make it through the night if he gave in to sleep.
"Bren?" he asked after what seemed hours.
No response.
"Bren?" he called again.
Nothing but the movement of whatever critters occupied Yosemite.
"Brenda!"
"Dylan!"
It wasn't the voice he had wanted to hear, but it gave him hope nonetheless.
"We're over here, Val!"
Val rushed forward, lit only by the moon.
"Fuck, Bren's down there?" she asked, the shimmer of the crescent moon reflected in her eyes.
"Yeah. And she hasn't said anything in a while."
"I wanted to climb down to her, but the ranger said you have to be a trained member of search and rescue or it'd make the situation worse."
"I would've climbed down hours ago, but neither of your twins would let me."
"Don't worry," said Val. "I compromised with the ranger. Said the only way I wouldn't climb down was if I could be part of the effort." She pulled out a walkie-talkie, telling the person on the other end the exact location of Brenda Walsh.
Bright lights filled the sky, followed by the loud, obnoxious hum of a helicopter.
A ladder descended from the helicopter, hanging directly beside the area Dylan thought Brenda's crevasse might be.
He didn't breathe again until the rescue member in the helicopter brought Brenda back up.
"I hope she's asleep," said Val. "One look down and Bren will send both of them toppling."
The helicopter withdrew, sending Dylan into a physical and mental tailspin.
He bolted back to the campsite, Valerie hot on his tail.
His breaths didn't come easily until Brandon said that Brenda was sleeping and that he had been told she hadn't suffered any lasting injuries.
Relieved, Dylan went into the cabin to check on her himself. He ignored Kelly's attempt to say how glad she was that Brenda had not fallen to her death. He accepted Steve's shaky bear hug. He bent over Brenda, kissing her forehead and pressing his against hers.
With a whisper that he loved her and would soon return, Dylan went to track down David.
Val rose up from her seat next to Donna.
"How is she?" she asked.
"Yeah, I think - I think - I think she's gonna -"
Dylan felt his knees give way, and then Val's arms cocooned around him.
Donna, too, gripped on.
"I think she's gonna be just fine," Val finished for Dylan.
He nodded, wiping away the fountainous tears with the edges of his palm.
"And you're gonna be just fine, Kit-Kat. You and Bren. I know she's on her way back to you. I've known my girl since we were in diapers. She's never looked at anyone the way I've seen her look at you, and she's gonna eventually realize it."
"Right now, I'm just glad she's safe in the cabin." He glanced at Donna. "Have you seen Silver?"
"Who's Silver?" asked Val.
"David," said Donna.
"Oh, that guy I still haven't met?" said Val.
"That's the one." Donna explained to Dylan that David and Valerie kept missing each other.
"How'd you manage to do that?" he asked Val.
"Dunno," she said. "We just have."
Asking Val to check in on Brenda periodically until he returned, Dylan set off.
He found David, speaking in low tones with Brandon.
"What the hell are you doing out here, Walsh?" said Dylan. "Get your ass in that cabin."
"It's just cuts and scrapes and down one shoe," said Brandon. "Bren's worse off than I am."
"Yeah, and you both nearly fell to your deaths and gave me a friggin' heart attack before the ripe old age of seventeen, so into the cabin you go."
"Yes, sir," said Brandon with a mock salute.
"How'd you know to do that thing with the ice cubes?" asked Dylan as he angled towards David.
"My mom," said David. "She gets into these trances. I usually grab a bag of frozen vegetables or something, but since I didn't have anything like that on hand, I thought the ice might do the trick."
"It did," said Dylan. "You saved the twins' lives with your ice, Silver. I don't know how I can ever repay you for that."
"You don't have to repay me," said David, "but can you do me a favor and talk to Scott? I'm worried about him. He played around with a gun at his uncle's in Oklahoma and now he keeps pretending he's a cowboy. Even has the ten gallon hat, plus a holster. His dad's got a gun collection. I don't wanna know what Scott might do with it."
Fuck.
Okay, say I help Scott. That doesn't mean he won't still get killed.
But he might get killed in a more brutal way than last time. Look what almost happened to Brenda, and that's only because you didn't decide to swig out of a flask and sleep outside until Brandon found you.
But I can't not help Scott. Especially when Silver's asking. Especially after what he did for my twins.
"I'll talk to him," said Dylan, "though I'm not sure how much good it'll do."
"You're one of the coolest guys in school," said David, "if not the coolest. If you tell Scott playing with guns isn't cool, maybe he'll listen."
"Can't promise how he'll react," said Dylan, "but yeah, I'll give it a try."
"Thanks. I really appreciate it." David stretched out his arms, which Dylan still expected to be tattooed. That they weren't had thrown him from the moment he re-encountered the young David Silver. "Think I'm gonna turn in. You coming?"
"Soon. Gotta clear my head first."
It would have been immensely difficult for Dylan to be in that cabin and not climb into bed with Brenda, who he knew required undisturbed rest.
Too riled to sleep, Dylan gazed out upon the remarkable nature of Yosemite.
He thought about cursing it for attempting to steal Brenda from him, but decided there was something he had to do instead.
"Itero," he said. "Hey, Itero! I need to talk to you…please!" Dylan zeroed in on the glow of the moon and began to sing, "When you wish upon a star…"
"Please know I have only come to tell you that beckoning any fairy with that song is an insult to all fairies," said Itero, appearing before Dylan.
"Then how should I beckon you? Itero, I summon thee? Itero, I bring thee forth?"
"You are confusing fairies with genies."
"Wait, genies are also real?"
"Many things are real, Dylan McKay. The mystical world surrounds you - in the land, in the sky, and in the sea. Humans flit from one task to the next. Few still themselves to observe."
Fairies, said Itero, were summoned by their respective languages which were only told to those assigned a fairy. Itero told Dylan how to politely ask for Itero's presence in Novelese, which Dylan tried to mentally file away.
There were restrictions; Itero could not visit often.
"There's something I've been wondering," said Dylan. "Am I in my past, or am I in an alternate timeline of my past?"
"Is it the past you remember?" asked Itero.
"It started out that way, but now it isn't. Some things are still the same. Most aren't."
"Then it is your past, that has become an alternate timeline."
"So is that why Brenda's getting these visions about our past lives? She never got those before."
"Visions?" asked Itero. "Brenda should not be receiving visions."
"But I have the visions," said Dylan.
"You have the visions to help you mind your task," said Itero, "to show you the reunions occurring, or not occurring, based on your choices."
"Then you didn't send Brenda the visions, too?" asked Dylan.
"There is one reason and one reason alone why Brenda would be receiving visions herself," said Itero, "and, oh dear, that means the situation is worse than I feared."
Dylan's spirit dove so fast, it almost seemed that he were back in a trance on the cliff.
"Worse? Worse than Anteros punishing her for denying the love he tried to manipulate her into feeling? How is it worse?"
"If Brenda is receiving visions of her own," Itero began.
"And dreams," said Dylan, "she's been dreaming of Ireland. Brenda had never stepped foot in Ireland before she became an adult."
"The visions and dreams are being shared with Brenda by her past selves and, perhaps, by the Brenda you once knew," explained Itero.
Dylan asked if it were customary for past lives to share visions with their future selves.
"It is not," said Itero. "In order for this to occur, somewhere within the universes, a Brenda is out of time."
"Out of time?" Dylan practically yelled.
"Let me rephrase," said Itero, realizing how that could be misconstrued. "A Brenda is out of her time. As you have travelled into your past, there is at least one Brenda who has travelled into hers; a past she did not live herself."
There was a legend among the fairies, expounded Itero, that said when two humans held a bond so strong, it permitted one of those humans to be granted a wish if the other human had also been granted a wish.
The legend, said Itero, had never been proven.
"Does that mean my Bren, my other Bren; or my future Bren," said Dylan, tripping up himself trying to differentiate between the two, "also made a wish that was granted by the fairies?"
"It is quite plausible," said Itero. "Unfortunately, for Brenda's lives to be sharing memories amongst themselves, that means Arís is involved."
Arís. There was that name again.
"I will need to look into this further," said Itero. "The involvement of Arís is often aligned with the work of Anteros. You see, there are many fairy species residing upon this earth, and within this universe. Arís is a fairy of Hibernia; or, as you know it to be, Ireland."
The fairies of Ireland were called the good people for a reason, said Itero, for they were often good and helpful to those humans around them.
"However," said Itero, "cross a fairy of Hibernia; death will befall you. Encounter Arís, a fairy born of faeries, and it will be impossible to avoid Arís' trickery. Let's just say that the last Viking deeply regretted meeting Arís."
Dylan tried to store into his memory bank everything Itero told him, combined with what Nat had told him of Arís earlier that summer, so that Dylan could remember to warn older Brenda of the fairy's manipulation the next time he dreamt of her.
If he dreamt of her.
"Then my other Brenda can share visions with my Brenda of this timeline?" asked Dylan. "Bren will now be able to know everything? Everything I did? Everything you said she wouldn't know?"
"Not necessarily," said Itero. "It is impossible to predict what the Brenda of this life will know of her old lives. It is up to the other Brendas of how much information their subconsciouses wish to share with her. Reunions are shared through visions; anything further would be shared through dreams."
Dylan asked if dreams could be manipulated, in the event that Anteros revealed falsities to Brenda within her dreams.
"Dreams are powered by the source of Imagination," said Itero. "Because of this, they cannot be manipulated. Many have tried over the eons to manipulate dreams. It cannot be done. Dreams are used as a method of communication between lives, or between souls, but cannot be used by anything or anyone else."
Dylan asked if it would be possible for him to know the details of how his past lives had ended things with the past Brendas, so that he could be prepared for Brenda remembering any nasty breakups other than theirs.
"That, too, depends on what your past selves wish to share with you, since the seam between your lives is now ripped," said Itero. "I can, however, tell you that you had a particularly brutal end to your relationship in the Middle Ages."
"Fuck," said Dylan. "Was it anything like London?"
"Oh, London was a bright, sunny, angel food cake day in comparison," said Itero.
"But we didn't have that initially?"
Itero confirmed that the Middle Ages breakup had only occurred following Dylan's game of Battleship with Kelly.
"Is there any way for the Brenda in the wrong time to return to her own time?" asked Dylan. "That would stop the memory sharing, right?"
"It is impossible, unless you succeed in your task."
"And my task is?"
Itero gave a look that indicated Dylan should know.
"The reunions," exclaimed Dylan. "Of course. If all of our lives are reunited, it will close the mental footbridge between the Brendas and put the runaway Brenda back where she belongs?"
Itero flicked its wing for Dylan to continue.
"It's not any of those Dylan's faults how they handled situations," said Dylan. "It's mine. Bren doesn't need to know how fucked up we can become when I turn into my father. It's bad enough I have to remember. I don't want her to have to deal with it all over again, when it hasn't happened. When it won't ever happen. I'm never gonna be Jack; never again. Especially not with her."
Dylan questioned if the reunions of their past lives would alter the history of their respective families.
"I am often asked this question," said Itero. "You are asking if the reunion of your past selves means that you and Brenda become related?"
"Yeah," said Dylan. "Like cousins or fifth cousins twice removed, or something."
He had been kidding when he called Brenda his cousin to the cops outside of a rowdy house party the twins had thrown when they first arrived.
"Your past lives are not your ancestors," said Itero. "They are the lives you once knew and then forgot, in death."
Good. Would've been a nightmare to explain that when we go for our marriage license.
"Dylan?" called a voice laden with fatigue.
"Until we speak again," said Itero, fading into the night sky.
"Bren? What are you doing out of bed?"
"It was way too stuffy in there. I came out here for some fresh air."
"I would think you would've had enough of fresh air."
Rubbing at her elbows, Brenda glanced around. "Who were you talking to?"
"What?"
"I thought I heard you talking to someone."
"Oh," said Dylan. "The moon. I was talking to the moon."
"Why were you talking to the moon?"
"I was asking it to thank the universe that you're still with us." His knuckle brushed over the side of her face. His other hand lightly traced the gash along her forehead, partially covered by gauze. "That looks really bad, Bren."
"It's nothing. Really."
"Doesn't look like nothing."
"If it starts hurting, I'll let you know. Okay?"
"I want to speak to the person who told you it's nothing."
"Dylan."
"Fine," he said with copious disinclination.
Brenda accepted Dylan's outstretched arms, angling herself until they both faced the moon.
"Brandon told me you froze, up on the cliff," she said. "Wanna talk about it?"
"The two most important people in my life were grappling with their lives, Bren. Of course I froze." Dylan brought her into him from behind, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and sinking his face into her hair.
"Dylan," she said again.
He sighed, playing with a curled strand. "It was a memory from one of the past Dylans, I think," he said in one of his frequent half-truths. "Seems he once saw someone fall off of a cliff. They weren't as lucky as you and Brandon."
"Oh, Dyl. I'm sorry you had to see it again."
"Don't be. I'm just glad Silver knew what to do."
"And I'm glad to stand here with you." Brenda threaded her hands through his.
"That makes two of us."
Brenda began to shiver, causing Dylan to be irritated with himself for leaving his jacket in the cabin.
"Let's get you back inside."
"Will you share my bunk?" she asked. "It'll be a tight fit, but -"
"Of course I will, baby. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you, and sharing a sleeping space with you is one of the highlights of my life."
"You don't have to lay it on so thick," she said, playfully swatting at his chest.
"We almost lost you tonight, Bren," he said grimly. "I absolutely have to lay it on thick."
"Kinda like we almost lost you in that wave? So I guess we're even now."
"Not even close. I didn't need a rope ladder dropped from a helicopter."
"You needed a lifeguard on a jet ski."
"Not the same thing, Brenda. You have a friggin' gash and God knows what else."
"You broke your ribs."
"This is serious. You could've been seriously hurt. Could've needed the hospital. Could've - could've…"
Could've died.
"But I didn't. You did."
How many do-overs do I get? If Bren had fallen off…if Brandon had lost his grip on her…if he had underestimated the distance between Bren and that crevasse… if there hadn't been a crevasse…if…
I would've become Romeo. No question. Would've called forth Itero and demanded he bring her back, or I would follow.
Fuck. Can't think like that. Bren's here.
Then why do I have the feeling I've already thought her dead before?
They argued the equality of their respective dances with the Grim Reaper for a bit longer, until Brenda called for a stalemate.
"I think the next cliff I see won't be until the Cliffs of Moher in County Clare," she said.
"Or you could do me and Brandon a massive favor and avoid cliffs completely, for our respective sanities."
"Fair enough," she said. "What a story we'll have to tell in the homeroom ice-breaker on the first day back. David Silver breaking the calm, cool, collected Dylan McKay out of a trance with ice cubes."
"Ah, we can tell the kids about the ice-cubes," said Dylan. "The grapevine can know about everything else."
"What kids?"
"Why, our kids, of course. We'll name them Moon and Ice and teach them what to do if they fall off of cliffs in national parks."
"We will not!" laughed Brenda.
Dylan also laughed, primarily in his relief that Brenda still could.
The first sign of a wince put him on instant alert. Brenda played it off as sore muscles from a lack of movement. Dylan told her to allow someone to take care of her for once and returned to the cabin with Brenda snugly in his arms.
It was not until he was in the bunk with his girl safely sleeping beside him that he worried of the additional information that may be revealed to her from their past lives.
He wasn't worried about London, or even the past with Kelly.
No, what Dylan now worried over most was whatever the fuck had happened in the Middle Ages, and what his Bren would think of him if the Brenda of that time period decided to add to the visions Brenda Monaghan must be sending her.
Although it couldn't be Brenda Monaghan, for the younger Brenda had indicated that the Brenda of her dream was with a past version of himself.
And Brenda Monaghan was in the twenty-first century, on her journey to parenthood with that fucking husband of hers, having likely wished to remove all traces of her past with Dylan.
If she had made a wish.
Dylan experienced carsickness, seasickness, and a simultaneous altitude sickness at the idea of Brenda asking a fairy to completely eradicate his memory from her life.
He couldn't blame her for it, but it didn't make it any easier to know that in the future, Brenda would purposely forget him.
As he had once sought to forget her.
Would she do it by passing on those memories to her younger self, warning Brenda away from him? Would the older Brenda convince the Brenda in his arms that she was better off without him, without the hurt he was capable of giving her?
Motherfucking karma.
Dylan couldn't allow them to get to that place. He could not let Brenda ever think of the notion to rid him from her life.
But fuck, there was no way to stop the other Brenda from sharing all about what Dylan had done in his former life.
Aidan, he thought in a mantra, Aidan…
Dylan caught movement in his peripheral vision that dispelled his thoughts: Brenda tossing, tucking her head into the crook of his neck.
"I love you, Bren," he whispered as he rubbed her back. "My love for you surpasses time itself. Please don't ever forget that. Don't ever forget this. Don't forget us; or me, your favorite pillow. If I have to wait this out, I will. If I have to deal with you hating me when you start seeing what I did, or what the other D's did; frick, I will. But I'm not going anywhere. I'm not giving up; on you, on us. As the Herd Boy waits for his Weaving Maiden, so too will I wait for you."
Dylan wondered where that thought had come from, for he knew of neither a Herd Boy, nor of a Weaving Maiden.
He pulled Brenda in closer until there was not a smidgen of space between them, and tried to sleep himself until Steve's raucous snores would wake the entire cabin well before morning.
Dylan again dreamt of London; this time, of his attempt to run after a seventeen-year-old Brenda, who climbed up Big Ben to tell the press outlets of multiple universes that her connection with Dylan McKay was nonexistent.
That she despised him with her entire soul, and always would.
Brenda then stepped onto the tube; none other than Emilio Reina waiting for her amongst its occupants.
Dylan's desperate plea became swallowed by the throng of Oklahoman tourists blocking him from Brenda. Shoving his way forward, past Scott Scanlon, Dylan beelined for the closing tube doors.
Doors that became surrounded by quicksand.
The tube carriage transformed into an old-fashioned airplane, which took off through the roofs of London to the brightly colored gummy clouds above.
Overwhelmed by disconsolation, all Dylan could comprehend was the tinny, Pierce Brosnan-sounding voice that whispered one word through the clouds: Aiden.
-x
Tried to balance the line to find some sort of realism with the twins falling off of the cliff and still ending the day moving about. Much as I love those McWalsh scenes in the seventh episode of season two, for Brandon to leave the scene with barely a scratch seemed unlikely. Therefore, he was given a few more cuts and scrapes in Itero, and Bren was given a bit more, since she had fallen farther down. There was also the issue of Bren getting to safety, without suddenly granting her and/or Brandon super powers. In researching, I discovered that two tourists had been rescued from a Yosemite crevasse. Unsure of which part of Yosemite the episode took place, I will imagine that it was around that crevasse.
The Ladies' Land League was dissolved in 1882 after many of its members were arrested. Inghinidhe na hÉireann (Daughters of Ireland) was not formed until 1900. As it is unclear whether anyone sought to form an organisation that included women in-between 1882 and 1900, I have taken creative license and imagined someone, tried to re-start the Ladies' Land League a decade after its dissolution.
Thank you, Guest, both for your explanation of the German words (I honestly cannot speak German to save my life, with the most basic of exceptions) and for your enjoyment of Itero, along with the other stories. Also for the sweet words! Please do not feel the need to apologise for your English. I cannot tell you how many English speakers I know who have zero desire to learn another language; for you to read and write in another one at all is quite an impressive feat unto itself, and you do so well.
As always, thanks a million for the readership, reviews, follows, favourites, alerts, discourse, plot ideas, etc. Stay healthy and safe out there. x