Chaos reigned over the atmosphere.
Typewriters steadily clacked away. Pages flew at men and women, who were dressed in peculiar clothing.
He caught sight of one of the pages.
BRANDON JAMESON WALSH, it read. NOVEMBER 20, 1974 — APRIL 14, 2002.
Brandon Jameson Walsh?
"You are Brandon Jameson Walsh, are you not?" asked a man about his age who stood in a doorway.
No, he wanted to say. You are mistaken. I am Brandon Jeremiah Sidney Walshford, born in August, the year of our Lord 1893.
But the words would not come.
"This way then, sir," said the man.
"What is this place?" asked Brandon, following the man through a long corridor of offices.
"These are the offices of your mind," said the man.
"The people at the typewriters?"
"They are conserving your memories, as your body prepares for burial."
"I am not dead, sir, I assure you," said Brandon. "You can see for yourself that I am very much alive."
"I am a spirit myself," said the man. "A spirit of one you once knew. You are able to speak with me and therefore, you are dead."
Brandon was distracted.
"Do I hear my sister?" he asked, looking around for Brenda. "Is she crying?"
"It is a memory." The man waved towards a stained glass window. "You may view it, if you so choose."
Brandon opened the window, and soon found himself standing beside a bed.
A box hung in a corner. Images slid across it as if they were at the pictures.
The strange machines beside Brenda told Brandon they were not at the pictures.
"Did you get a doctor?" asked Brenda as she yelped out in pain. "Is it kidney stones? Appendicitis?"
"The doctor said they'll be here soon." Brandon was startled as the words flowed from his own lips, in a voice he did not know. "They wouldn't tell me what is going on with you."
"But I gave you permission to find out," said Brenda. "Did you - did you tell them that?" She groaned, clutching onto the side of the bed.
"Tell me again what happened," said Brandon.
"I told you," said Brenda. "I tried to call Dylan. He has a new girlfriend."
"You said Dylan said he's only connected with Toni and Kelly."
"He did say that," said Brenda.
"Are you sure?" asked Brandon. "That doesn't sound like something he'd say. He wouldn't just erase us from his life like that."
"Call him yourself, if you're so sure," said Brenda.
Not only had Brandon Jeremiah Sidney Walshford stepped into the memories and body of Brandon Jameson Walsh, he had also acquired the man's thought process.
"After we speak with the doctor," said Brandon.
The doctor's news had stunned Brenda as much as it had Brandon.
"Labor?" asked Brenda. "I can't - I can't be in labor."
"We've given you something to stop the contractions," said the doctor, "but Miss Walsh, we will need to keep you and your children under observation overnight."
"Children?" asked Brenda, quickly growing ashen-faced.
"You were unaware you are carrying twins?" asked the doctor.
"I was unaware there was a baby at all," said Brenda quietly.
She asked how far along she was.
Fifteen weeks, said the doctor.
"But I haven't gained weight," said Brenda. "I haven't had weird cravings and I haven't been nauseous."
"Every pregnancy is different," said the doctor.
"I had a drink," said Brenda. "Maybe two. Did I do this? Did I harm my babies?"
Brandon and the doctor both told Brenda it was not her doing, but Brenda didn't seem to hear.
"I should call Dylan," said Brandon. "He'll want to know about this. He'll want to be here for you."
"Dylan's in love with Kelly," said Brenda. "If you tell him about this, he'll feel obligated to come out here. But that's all it will be. Obligation. I already know I don't mean anything to him. I can't handle knowing my children don't mean anything, too, that they're just a roadblock in the epic tale of Dylan and Kelly."
"Did Dylan actually tell you he's in love with Kelly?" asked Brandon.
"Why are you never on my side?" asked Brenda. "I can raise them on my own. I don't need Dylan around, pretending to care when I know he doesn't."
Brandon temporarily gave up.
Had Dylan indeed said any of what Brenda said he had, thought Brandon, then Kelly would have undoubtedly spilled to her best friend in the world.
"Hi, sorry, can you hold on for a second?" asked the voice of Donna Martin before Brandon had been able to say a word. "Kel, I'm on the phone."
"He loves me," said Kelly Taylor.
"Matt?" asked Donna. "Matt loves you?"
"Matt," said Kelly, "and Dylan."
"Dylan?" asked Donna. "Did something else happen after you told me that Dylan said he came back because he missed you? That he only connected with two things in this life, one of those things being you and the other being Toni?"
"He'd been drinking," said Kelly. "He says things when he drinks, things he barely remembers the next day. I tried to not think much about it, but then we were in Mexico and last night - last night, we slept together, Donna, and it was wonderful. I think he might - I think Dylan might truly love me. That he might finally be over Brenda."
"What about Brandon?" asked Donna.
"What about Brandon?" asked Kelly.
"Don't you still - don't you still love him?" asked Donna.
"Brandon is my best friend," said Kelly. "I love him dearly, and that will never change. But -"
Brandon didn't stick around for the rest of her response.
He had heard enough.
"Well?" asked Brenda as Brandon slowly turned around.
"He doesn't need to know about this," said Brandon, stone-faced in his determination to not reveal to Brenda what he had overheard. "I'll help you raise them. Let me get Mags and Shane."
In the early hours of the morning, Brenda's contractions had begun again, stronger than before.
"What happened?" Brandon asked as the window closed.
"They couldn't stop her labor," said the man.
"Brenda delivered her children?" asked Brandon.
"She did," said the man. "Much too early. Brenda blamed herself. You blamed Dylan." He directed Brandon to another window, where two little gravestones sat side-by-side.
"You, Maggie, and Shane all swore to Brenda that you would never tell Dylan," said the man. "You took that promise to your grave, going as far as missing the wedding of your friends, David and Donna Silver, in the belief that you would confront Dylan if you attended. You haven't spoken to Dylan in four years. You haven't spoken to Kelly in that long, either. You have often wanted to but, to some extent, you also blamed her."
A third window showed Brandon a third grave, one bearing the name he had seen on the paper.
BRANDON JAMESON WALSH.
"I am not Walsh," said Brandon. "I am Brandon Jeremiah Sidney Walshford. I do not know a Maggie, or a Shane. The David I know is a Silverthorne. My sister has not been impregnated by Dylan McKay, and I have only just made the acquaintance of dear Kellieanna. You have mistaken me for another."
"There has been no mistake," said the man with the curly hair and the glasses. "Merely a crinkle in time that has allowed you to inhabit the body of another, of the one who came before you and has long since perished."
Brandon was drawn to the window, despite his belief that the funeral was not his.
"How are you holding up, kiddo?" asked a tall and frail white-haired man.
"He's gone, Dad," said a tearful blond. "My best friend is gone."
"I always did like that Brandon," said the man. "I would like to speak with Jim and Cindy. Will you be alright alone?"
"I'm not alone," said the man, who had been joined by the clipped steps of a brunette in heels.
"Good to see you, Rush," said the woman.
"And you, Valerie. Shame it isn't under better circumstances," said the man called Rush.
He kissed her cheek and sauntered away.
"It's been nearly a month," said Valerie. "They haven't come back. Maybe it'll actually work, Steve. Maybe Dylan and Kel can save them."
The man called Steve wiped his sleeve over his face.
"It's got to work," he said. "The only thing getting me through this hellish day is knowing Brandon isn't actually dead, Val. He's just not alive in this timeline."
"He gave up his life for his sister," said Val as she and Steve embraced.
"You gave up your life for your sister," echoed the man. "The man whose body you inhabit did the same and it cost him dearly. He could not be with his Kellieanna. You could not be with your Kelly. This chance has been given to you, that you can achieve what he could not. The more you change of his life, the more you will change of your own. The more you will help Dylan, Brenda, David, and Valerie to change of theirs."
"Who are you?" asked Brandon, overwhelmed by all he had been told.
"You once knew me as a foe," said the man, "then as a friend."
A vision of an explosion appeared in the next window, with the man's face seen through the flames.
"Josh," said Brandon. "You're Josh Richland."
"Your life has been washed anew," said Josh. "Go, do not disappoint," he added as he pushed Brandon into a flood.
Gasping, Brandon sat up and stared straight into the concerned face of David Silverthorne.
"Bad dream?" asked David.
"Nightmarish," said Brandon, though he could not recall any aspect of the dream outside of a room of typewriters and a man called Josh. "Did you climb in through the window?"
"Nanny rang me," said David. "She said she found Brenda in a concerning state. I headed this way as soon as I got off of the call, and Nanny let me through the servants' entrance. Was it your father?"
Brenda.
Brandon had dreamt about Brenda, but what he had dreamt of Brenda escaped him.
"You did not bear that mark before," said David, scrutinizing Brandon's back.
Brandon pulled the blanket closer around him upon the realization that he had slept without a shirt.
"There is a woman in town who has been asking invasive questions," he said. "Clara Arnaud, a journalist. Father assumed we had spoken with her about Brenda's cheek and acted accordingly."
"Is that why you were muttering about a grave?" asked David. "If you are planning to dispose of your father, I will gladly hand you the shovel and help you dig one."
"I was muttering about a grave?" asked Brandon.
"Indeed," said David. "Three."
"I believe one of the graves had to do with Brenda," said Brandon, "though I am unsure of what."
"It must be a warning," said David. "The spiritual realm is warning you of the death that could befall Brenda, should she wed Richard."
"Yes, that must be it," said Brandon, though he was not as certain as David. "There may be an obstruction in our plan."
"An obstruction?"
"Brenda has decided it is in McKay's best interest if she does not see him again after today. She believes our father will act rashly towards McKay if our alliance is discovered."
"Well, this will not do," said David. "We will continue with the plan. It will just be more difficult than we anticipated, that is all. Brenda cannot marry Richard and Mr. McKay is the person who will help her to see that."
"She is insistent that she will not speak with him," said Brandon.
"We will make it impossible for her to follow through," said David. "Brenda rides alone. We will ensure Mr. McKay is nearby when she rides. We still have time before our families board the ship, and we will use that time to our advantage."
"What are you two discussing?" asked Brenda as she appeared in her riding habit.
"The weather," said Brandon. "Will you be going for a ride, then?"
"I should like a ride before I say goodbye to the McKays," said Brenda.
"I do believe this is an overreaction," said Brandon.
"And I will not see Dylan on the ground, as I saw you," said Brenda. "I will do whatever is needed to ensure he remains upright. David, would you like to come along?"
"I was just telling your brother that it is a perfect day for a ride," said David. "I should be glad to be your companion. A ride is better with a companion."
Brandon took the cue.
His fist moved rhythmically across the door.
Dylan stepped outside.
"Brandon?" he asked. "It is earlier than we had agreed upon."
"How are you with horses?" asked Brandon. "Brenda fears her horse may have thrown a shoe, and David said he had been informed by Valerie that you may be quite familiar with horses."
"Elsie has thrown a shoe?" asked Dylan, getting into his work boots.
"May have," said Brandon, carefully treading the line between a lie and a necessary fib.
He had them driven to where he knew David and Brenda would be, her favorite spot in all of Cherbourg.
"Dylan," she said, struggling to keep her emotions in check.
"I was told Elsie may have thrown a shoe," said Dylan, "but her gait appears to be fine."
He looked at Brandon.
"And Brenda does not appear afraid," Dylan added.
"I suppose you may check her over," said Brenda as she climbed down from the horse. "I will go into the house and retrieve the meal."
Dylan lightly touched her shoulder as their eyes met, then withdrew his hand within a millisecond of his touch.
"The meal, then," he agreed.
"She seems different," he told Brandon when Brenda was out of earshot. "Withdrawn. Did I err yesterday in our discussion?"
"You did not hear it from me," said Brandon. "Brenda has every intention of remaining withdrawn from you."
"Have I offended her in some way?" asked Dylan, alarmed. "I thought we had gotten on rather nicely."
"You have," said Brandon, "and now it is Brenda's wish to protect you."
"Protect me?" asked Dylan. "From what?"
"I cannot say," said Brandon.
"From your father," said Dylan. "She wishes to protect me from your father. Because Brenda cares," he paused, swallowing down the lump in his throat, "Brenda cares for me."
"You are astute," said Brandon. "I have betrayed my sister in telling you this, but I require your help."
"My help?" asked Dylan.
"My close mate David, as you know, is the cousin of Brenda's fiancé," said Brandon. "Brenda believes Richard to be a good man, albeit a dry and conceited man. David, who certainly knows his cousin better than Brenda does, is convinced Richard's actions will be unsavory towards Brenda. I need you to help me save my sister from her betrothed, to push your way forward when Brenda will insist on pushing you backward."
"Perhaps Richard is different with Brenda," said Dylan.
"Do you truly believe that?"
"No, but she does."
"David does not, and my sister has suffered enough at the hands of our father to marry one who may be like him."
Brenda returned to inquire about Elsie.
"She is in perfect order, Miss," said Dylan.
"As I expected," said Brenda, "though I do thank you for the care you have shown her. Your meal."
She gave Dylan the platter.
"I have spoken with Richard," said Brenda, "and he has requested that I join him and his family on more outings. As I will be terribly busy with preparations for my wedding, I am charging Brandon and David with providing you any further meals. It has been a pleasure, Mr. McKay."
"Dylan," said Dylan.
"Mr. McKay," said Brenda. "David, will you escort me home?"
Dylan watched Brenda's retreating back.
"It's in her eyes," he said. "Her lips are certain, but her eyes declare she does not want this."
"I can count on you to help open her eyes to Richard?"
"Oui," said Dylan, stretching out his hand for Brandon to shake. "You can count on me. I will make Worthington quiver in his boots, make him question Brenda's loyalty until he is so full of rage, his temper will reveal itself to Brenda before he can get her down the aisle."
"Just do not allow him to hurt her," said Brandon.
"He hurts her and I kill him," said Dylan, without blinking.
"You are besotted," Brandon realized.
"She is a friend," said Dylan. "Mon amie. That is all she can ever be, and as my friend, I will ensure her safety."
He spoke with finality, though Brandon saw the angst in Dylan's own eyes that attempted to defy his words.
Brandon stood, unable to knock.
"Brandon?" asked Kellieanna, opening the door to the restored townhouse she shared with the other dancers.
"I should like to kiss you," said Brandon. "I should like to kiss you immensely."
"Do," said Kellieanna. "There is no one around but us."
"I cannot," said Brandon. He hung his head. "I liked you from the moment I saw you, on that stage," he said. "I have liked other women, but you; you have stirred something in me, Kellieanna, something that bloody terrifies me."
"I feel the same about you," said Kellieanna. "Why can we not kiss?"
"Because," Brandon exhaled, "because," he dropped the fake accent and returned to his normal voice, "because I am betrothed."
"What happened to your voice?" Kellieanna's eyes narrowed.
"I like you too much to continue lying to you," said Brandon. "I am not American, I am betrothed, and I think I may have developed an attachment to you."
"I knew you were not American," said Kellieanna. "Your voice, it was not like the Americans I have heard. There was a lilt, a European song. I do not need you to explain why you have lied to me. I simply need to know if you love your betrothed."
"I do not," said Brandon. "I believe I never have."
"Then become unbetrothed," said Kellieanna, as if it were the simplest suggestion in the world.
"I cannot," said Brandon. "To save my sister, I must marry Susanna."
"Brandon Malone," said Kellieanna with tears in her eyes.
"Brenda will only break her own engagement if she can be certain that I will be untouchable," said Brandon. "To be out of the hold of Father, to be separated from his financial claim, I must join myself to the family of Keating."
"Can you survive without money?" asked Kellieanna.
"I can," said Brandon. "But I cannot ensure Brenda's protection without it and if my plan succeeds, Brenda will be without money of her own. I am sorry, Kellieanna. I had hoped that I could taper this attraction between us, that I could find a way to be content as your compadre, but I cannot."
He pressed his forehead to hers, fighting every instinct that yelled at him to kiss her.
"I believe it is better if we part," he said, "before our attachment intensifies more than it has thus far. I already feel as if we have known each other for lifetimes."
"I feel it, too," said Kellieanna. "Perhaps in another life, we have allowed ourselves to declare a love we cannot have in this one."
Brandon brushed back a piece of Kellieanna's hair.
"I can meet you," he said, "at your ship. I can see you depart."
"As you said, it is best if we say goodbye," she said. "But there is a problem, for I cannot bring myself to say the words."
"Nor can I," said Brandon.
"May this life with Susanna be pleasant for you, Brandon."
"Remember me when your steps are the the chatter of international publications," said Brandon.
"You will never stray from my thoughts," said Kellieanna. "Brandon Malone."
Brandon inhaled sharply.
"Walshford," he said. "It's…Brandon Walshford."
"Brandon Walshford?" she asked. "As in, the Walshfords who are patrons of the theatre?"
"Oui. I am their son."
"Another lie?"
"A chance to be someone different. Someone not held down by obligations, by expectations. Someone who could speak with a beautiful woman without being bombarded by the razor-sharp attention of the press. It was nice while it lasted, to be an unknown."
"It could have lasted. I would not have required you to be truthful."
"Without truth, there would be no trust," said Brandon. "The truth would have released itself, eventually, as it always does."
"I would like to be angry with you," said Kellieanna, "that you felt it necessary to lie. But how can I be when it is clear that you are miserable?"
"I've no right to be miserable. I am now well-acquainted with those less fortunate than I. I have much, whilst they have little. I eat well, whilst they starve. I have the finest clothes, whilst theirs are worn well after the moths have initiated their festivities."
"You can have much and still long for more. It is not riches you long for, Brandon. It is not fame, nor glory. It is a home, a family wherein you and your sister can receive comfort, wherein you can be assured of protection. You do not have that, do you?"
"What I have is still more than others and for that, I should be fortunate. Until the next life, Kellieanna Tailors."
Kellieanna's cheek grazed against Brandon's open palm.
"Until the next life, Brandon Walshford," she said.
Her words continued to reverberate through Brandon's head as he rejected the services of Aurelio and began the trek home by foot.
If the château could be called a home, when the twins loathed the mere idea of the residence one or both of them would be set to inherit upon the death of their father.
Did misery have to be justified? Brandon wondered. Could there not be different aspects of misery, where it did not have to be packaged and logical, but an emotion that could be experienced by all without judgment? Yes, he had fortune; yes, he had a level of fame, but what were those when they did nothing to protect his sister?
Brenda was all he had ever cared about in the world; all he could ever care about, as the rest had become unattainable.
In mere days, Kellieanna had pinpointed the tenebrosity Brandon had not wished to face. She had correctly identified Brandon's misery, as Dylan had just as easily picked up on Brenda's.
You gave up your life to save your sister, Brandon thought, getting the feeling that he had heard the sentence somewhere before.
It would have been inevitable, he told himself; his parting from Kellieanna.
He didn't even have the name of her ship, where it would be docked, or when it would depart.
Perhaps, thought Brandon, if by some slim miracle Kellieanna's ship was the same as his own, then perhaps he might reconsider the separation.
But as he could not be certain that she too would board the Titanic, Brandon focused on what he could be certain of.
That Brenda needed his help, though she could not see it herself.
And he would not fail her, as he had done throughout their childhood when he failed to protect Brenda from the blows of their father.
Even if that meant signing his life away for the Keating fortune.
xx
He hated the Ontario International Airport, with a passion.
Located between Los Angeles and Riverside, ONT had been the airport where he had disembarked after a long flight from Madrid.
He had spent the layover in Madrid plucking up the courage to cancel his flight, rebook for London, and return to her whilst he still had the chance.
Instead, he had continued on to California, to ONT, to a life without Brenda Walsh.
He now stood at the arrivals gate of ONT, waiting for that same Brenda and her best friend Donna.
He had been there at the Peach Pit when Cindy had gotten the call of the flight detour. He had offered to pick up the girls from ONT.
Cindy had been hesitant, but agreeable.
Dylan had picked up a bouquet of Brenda's favorite flowers, despite knowing that flowers wouldn't make up for what he had done.
Why couldn't he have had the chance to refrain from kissing Kelly? From flirting with her? From not cheating on Brenda at all?
Why did he have to hold onto the terror that he would have to tell Brenda what he had done, knowing how much it had hurt her before and would hurt her again?
He wanted another shot with the coin, to put him in the correct year, or to bring him to a time before he had cheated, yet he couldn't be sure the coin would do any of that.
What's more, the coin had disappeared.
Dylan had searched everywhere for it, to no avail.
Because, he realized, Iris had not given him the coin yet and, as such, it could not be in his possession.
He would have to visit Iris in Hawai'i to find it.
His musings were riddled with anxiety.
He would have to tell Brenda the truth, eventually. Not quite yet. He couldn't lose her so soon, not when he had been given a second chance to love her.
To hold on to a life with her.
He had pushed her away after that summer, finding little ways to fight with her over trivial shit so that it would make it easier when he lost her.
He wouldn't lose her, not this time.
It would be temporary, and he would spend the little time they would have apart proving to Brenda why she should let him fight to get her back.
If it meant another shot with Brenda, a chance to save her from Cobh, Dylan would reluctantly accept their breakup.
But it wouldn't be four years until she returned.
"Dylan?" he heard through the crowd. "David?"
He was about to respond to Donna when he was cut off by a louder, jubilant voice.
"Dylan!"
There she stood, in a dress that matched the color of the flowers in his hand, her face flushed with excitement.
Excited. She was excited, to see him.
He caught her in his arms, nearly dropping the bouquet as he pulled her close and dipped his face into her hair.
"How was Paris?" he asked, shifting her legs further up his waist. "Was it everything you dreamed it would be?"
"You were right," said Brenda as she snuggled into Dylan's chest. "Paris was amazing and I did love it, but I would've loved it better if you were with me."
"Next time," Dylan promised, kissing the top of her head. "Next time."
"You know what I have dreamt of?" asked Brenda.
"What would that be?" asked Dylan.
"This," said Brenda, and she thrust her face towards his.
Dylan tried to act as if the kiss he had long awaited had only been waited for for six weeks.
He wondered how long it would be before he forgot.
He hoped it was soon, though he also hoped that the feeling of losing Brenda, of being unable to find her, would never go away.
If he could cling to that, it would make it ten times easier to hold onto the idea of a reunion when Brenda would want nothing to do with him.
His stomach rebelled at the mere thought of losing her again.
He could taste the nicotine on her breath. Her smoking habit had been so short-lived, Dylan had forgotten it had existed.
She had picked it up again, briefly in London before Dylan had joined her there, but unlike Dylan, Brenda had kicked her addiction permanently.
Considering everything he had indulged in over the years, it didn't bother him as it had before; though, for Brenda's sake, he did hope she would quit just the same.
He wanted to speak to her about it, to make her understand why she should quit.
He would be the world's biggest hypocrite if he did.
Instead, he focused on Brenda herself and how fantastic it was to kiss her again, however she tasted.
"Let's get your bag," he said, "and then I'll drive you over to Casa Walsh. It was the only way your mom would let me pick you up."
"Things aren't any better with you and my parents, then?" asked Brenda, taking Dylan's hand.
Dylan tried to remember how Jim and Cindy had acted towards him whilst Brenda had been away.
"Cindy's coming around," he said. "Jimbo's mainly avoided me."
"I don't regret standing up to my father for you," said Brenda, "but I am sorry how it strained things between you and my mom."
"You're home now," said Dylan. "That's all that matters."
"I won't be home until we're in our bungalow," said Brenda.
Our bungalow, thought Dylan.
He did like the sound of that, but they didn't need a place of their own to be together.
The bungalow hadn't been a home in years. He doubted it could feel like one again.
And he'd had other women there, quite a few women.
He and Brenda needed a fresh start, in a place where he hadn't shared a bed with others.
"I'm thinking of moving, actually," he said. "Steve said his Mom's decided to rent out their guest house. I was thinking of talking to her about it. Maybe Jimbo won't be so against us if there's some parental supervision around."
"But you love living on your own," said Brenda.
"I love you more," said Dylan. "And it might not be so bad, living with Sanders."
"Who are you and what have you done with my Dylan McKay?" asked Brenda.
"Just had a lot of time to think while you were away," said Dylan. "That's all." He looked over his shoulder at David, who was locked in a makeout session with Donna. "We're going!" said Dylan.
"Right behind you," said David.
"Have you seen Brandon much lately?" asked Brenda, wheeling her suitcase out of baggage claim.
"He has a new girl," said Dylan, grabbing the suitcase from Brenda to join with her duffle slung over his shoulder. "You'll meet her soon."
"He always has a new girl," said Brenda. "Will I like this one?"
No, thought Dylan, but he said, "Haven't met her yet to know if you will."
Brenda scanned over the cars in the parking lot.
"Where's your Porsche?" she asked.
"In the driveway outside my place," said Dylan.
"So David drove?" asked Brenda.
"We both did." Dylan nodded over to his parked motorcycle. "Thought you might want to come home in style." He withdrew the helmet that he had picked up with the bouquet. "Unless you're scared," he added.
"I'm not scared," said Brenda, taking the helmet.
They dumped Brenda's luggage beside Donna's in the trunk of David's father's car.
"Now, you sure you'll be alright with David driving?" asked Dylan. "The guy's had his license for a week."
"I'll be doing the driving," said Donna, smiling at David.
"Be careful," Brenda told her.
"You too," said Donna.
"We'll see you at the house," said David, waving as Donna drove off.
"It's not too late for you to change your mind," said Dylan. "I can call for a taxi, or rent a car."
"Dylan, get on the bike," said Brenda.
"Yes ma'am," Dylan saluted.
In less than a couple of hours, he had already achieved a hug, a kiss, and Brenda holding tightly to his waist.
What could he achieve with their whole lives set before them?
"I've been thinking," said Brenda over the roaring wind, "about the day we went horseback riding with Bobby."
"That was a great day," said Dylan.
"Would you like to do it again?" asked Brenda.
"Hang out with Bobby?"
"Go horseback riding."
"Bren, I'll buy us our own stables, if that's what you want," said Dylan.
"Save your money," said Brenda. "We'll rent a stall."
"Then I'll look into getting us some horses," said Dylan.
"Only if they're affordable," said Brenda. "Otherwise, we'll stick to rentals."
He had almost forgotten how low-maintenance Brenda was compared to the majority of other women he had been with.
"Are you ever going to let me use my money on you?" asked Dylan. "It's there for a reason."
"I've just been to Paris," said Brenda. "Not many can say that."
"Have you been gnawed on by the bug?" asked Dylan.
"The bug?"
"The travel bug. Thinking of where you want to go next?"
"You're reading my mind now?"
"Happens to us all. We get a taste of adventure and we crave more."
"Wherever I fly next," said Brenda, "I would like you to be sitting beside me on the plane."
"That can absolutely be arranged," said Dylan. "Maybe," he hedged, "maybe after graduation? You've got a passport now, so we can go anywhere your heart desires."
"London," said Brenda, "or maybe Ireland."
Dylan pretended he could no longer hear her over the wind.
They rode in silence the rest of the way, Dylan both thinking of how he would tell Brenda and questioning if Rick had crossed her mind.
"Can you spend the night?" he asked as they neared the street that led to the old Casa Walsh. It had been sold off to a Silicon Valley entrepreneur in the previous year of Dylan's old life when Steve couldn't meet the asking price. "I've missed you something awful."
"I'd like to," said Brenda, "but after all those weeks away, I'd really like to sleep in my own bed tonight."
"I understand." Dylan attempted to stifle his dejection.
"Maybe I can convince Jim to let you stay around a little longer," said Brenda.
"That's a nice bit of wishful thinking, Bren," said Dylan.
He ushered Brenda into the house to find the gang waiting for them.
Including Kelly, who had her eyes on Brandon's girlfriend, Brooke.
For the life of him, Dylan couldn't recall if Brandon had shared the reasoning behind his breakup with Brooke.
If he could figure it out, maybe he could help speed it along.
"Kelly!"
Kelly smiled at Brenda.
"Bren!" she said.
"I've missed you!" they said together, hands clasped as they jumped in sync.
Brenda gave out embraces all around; to Kelly, to Brandon, to Steve and Andrea.
"Donna and David will be here soon," said Brenda. "Mom," she told Cindy, "is Dad around?"
"He's out back," said Cindy.
"Good," said Brenda. "I want to talk with him."
Dylan sat on the sofa, fidgeting with his hands as Kelly interrogated the pixie-haired, athletic Brooke.
"Did you say you're Brandon's friend?" asked Brooke.
"That I am," said Kelly. "Why?"
"Because by the questions you've asked me, you would think you were Brandon's former flame," said Brooke.
Dylan mouthed at Kelly to watch herself.
"I just care a lot about Brandon," she said. "That's all."
"He has a sister," said Brooke.
"We're a tight group," said Kelly.
Dylan leapt up when Brenda entered.
"How did it go?" he asked, scraping his hand over the back of his neck.
"I told him I wanted to know where you and he stood," said Brenda. "I tried to tell him as calmly as possible."
"And? Where do we stand?"
"He's still adamant that I am not to see you," said Brenda. "I told my father that if he wants me to live in this house, he will learn to respect you and your place in my life. And yet, as angry as I am with him, I still didn't raise my voice."
"How did he take it?" asked Dylan, well aware of exactly how Big Jim would have taken such a statement.
"He reminded me that I am a child," said Brenda. "So I reminded him that I graduate next spring and maybe I'll try to get an acting scholarship so he can't continue controlling me with his finances. I don't need to go to school to act. I want to, I've always wanted to get a degree, but not with his money when he treats my boyfriend the way he does."
Brenda didn't know the half of it, thought Dylan.
Whether he would tell her what Jim had said before Paris, the words that had ingrained themselves in his mind and haunted him again in London, he hadn't decided.
He didn't want Jim's threats to come off as an excuse for whatever had possessed Dylan to pursue Kelly.
"You haven't acted outside of that drama class last summer," said Kelly. "Have you?"
"I haven't tried," said Brenda. "Auditions make me nervous, knowing how much talent and connections others have, connections I sometimes think I'll never have. But I have talent. I can form connections. And if Paris taught me anything, it's that if I want to work toward the career of my dreams, I need to start now."
"I'll be glad to help you," said Dylan. "Run lines, take you to auditions, stay late at rehearsals, whatever you need."
Brenda smiled at him and looked around.
"Did everyone else go home?" she asked.
Donna had wanted to spend time with David, said Kelly. Steve had offered to drive Andrea home.
"I suppose I should go, too," said Kelly as she watched Brandon's face dive into Brooke's neck.
"Dylan, walk Kel out," said Brenda.
"Bren," said Dylan, "it's probably better if I don't -"
"Walk Kel out and then meet me in the kitchen," said Brenda.
If sneaking around with Kelly before had been awkward, Dylan couldn't determine an accurate descriptor for how he felt when they stood in the foyer.
"It'll get easier," he said. "We know Brooke and Brandon are halfway over."
"Do we?" asked Kelly. "You've already changed things. You picked up Bren from the airport, instead of her parents, and she's talking about going on auditions she never tried to go on, saying things to Jim she didn't say."
"It'll prepare her for RADA," said Dylan confidently.
"If she doesn't go to RADA?" asked Kelly.
"It won't affect how long Brandon will date Brooke."
"It better not," said Kelly. "He can do so much better." She looked behind Dylan. "I didn't realize how much I've missed Bren," she admitted. "I wish we could have completely erased this summer, started brand-new and never hurt her."
"You and me both," said Dylan. "But we can't, so we just have to find a way to work through it, when Bren knows. Let her hate us for a while, without trying to steamroll her into forgiveness."
"When will that be?" asked Kelly.
"Soon," said Dylan.
"How soon?"
"Soon."
Kelly left for the night. Dylan power walked back to Brenda.
"What a mess," she said, holding a tray of dirty dishes.
"I'll help you clean up," he said.
The need to clean up was erased by the stronger need to embark on a snogging session.
"I thought we were supposed to be cleaning up," said Brenda, thrusting her head back.
"We are," said Dylan. His lips plunged into her neck, dancing across her skin.
"You know," said Brenda, clutching at Dylan's hair, "when I was in France, I almost thought I'd forget what you were like."
"Did you?" asked Dylan.
"You're a hard one to forget, Dylan McKay," said Brenda. "I brought you something."
"You didn't have to get me anything."
"It's for your keyring." Brenda partially withdrew Dylan's gift from inside her bra. "So you can have it when you drive and bike."
"Has this been in there the whole time?" Dylan fingered the chain whilst half of it remained in Brenda's bra.
"I snuck it in there before I went to talk to Dad," said Brenda.
Dylan targeted Brenda with his most seductive stare that he had managed to consistently reserve only for her as he slowly withdrew the silvery blue keychain.
He traced over its inscription.
"Je t'aime, mon rêve," he read.
"I love you -" Brenda began.
"My dream," Dylan finished. "Je t'aime aussi, mon rêve," he told Brenda the same. "Wish I'd gotten you something."
"You got me a bouquet."
"Anyone can get you a bouquet."
"But not everyone can get me to listen to the aria of the wind," said Brenda as she went in for another kiss. "A song I take it you have not played for anybody else."
As at that time, he hadn't, Dylan bobbed his head up and down in silent agreement.
"I'm also the first girl you've ridden horses with?"
That was true. He usually rode alone, aside from when he was first learning with his nanny and then with JJ Jones, more commonly known as Jonesy, when they had gone with Valerie to hunt down Dylan's stolen money.
Val. Damn. It would be a whole two years before she showed up, unless he was somehow able to change that, too.
"Not unless my old nanny counts," said Dylan.
"Only if you kissed your nanny," said Brenda.
"Did I kiss my eighty-six year old nanny on the cheek more than once? I might've."
"So I am the first," said Brenda.
"The first," said Dylan, "and the last."
"Do you want to go to the beach tomorrow?" asked Brenda as she played with Dylan's hands. "There aren't many days left before we have to go back to school, and I'd like to spend as many of them with you as I can."
Now was not the time to become emotional, Dylan told himself. Brenda would become suspicious.
"I'd," he cleared his throat out of the impending catch, "I'd like that. The surf's supposed to be great. I can give you another lesson."
"That sounds perfect," she said. "And there's a sandcastle competition down at the Beach Club that Andrea told me about. Donna and I are going to enter. I know it's not really your thing -"
"If it lets me spend time with my girl, it's my thing," said Dylan, cutting Brenda off. "I bet I can find my old toy shovel and bucket around the house somewhere."
"Can you find anything in that house?" Brenda teased.
"Says the girl who's contributed to the mess in that house."
"Me?" asked Brenda, pointing to her chest in disbelief.
"Brenda, I found two pairs of your bikini bottoms in the corner of my bedroom, under a pile of your CD's and beside a tube of your fruity chapstick."
"So that's where they went," said Brenda. "I had wondered."
He had to tell her. He had to.
It was a mantra in his head, one that refused to pause for an intermission.
How could he tell her, when Brenda felt so damn wonderful in his arms, as if they had been crafted only for her?
No girl, not even his late wife, had ever felt like that.
No girl but Brenda ever would.
The only wife he would have.
Brenda, like Dylan, had forced herself to forget him before, to act as if their love had never existed the way he had also acted. This time, he would ensure neither of them would try to erase the other out of their lives.
She was his dream. He was hers.
That was how they would stay, whatever occurred.
He would have to hold onto that, for however long it took to get her back, to convince her why he should remain a permanent fixture in her life.
Once she knew the truth of what he had done with her best friend.
If only there was a way for there to be two of him so that he could kick one of his seventeen-year-old selves in the ass for the misery he was bound to endure.
The misery she was bound to endure.
-x
Sources: Google and the website for The Good Life France.
A reworking of the beginning half of the sixth episode in the third season, "Castles in the Sand."
(Shout-out to Crystal to express my gratitude and appreciation, as well as those of you whose review I could respond to directly. Crystal, agree with preferring that Dylan end up with Gina over Kelly, though if he had to end up with anyone who wasn't Bren, my pick would be Val.)
EDIT: Thank you, Crystal. I normally put the twins as November 20th, so that's my editing mistake. The series itself couldn't decide if they were Scorpios, born in the summer, or born in May. My maths were slightly off on the year; I had calculated sixteen from 1991, instead of from 1990, which was when the twins would have turned sixteen.
Thanks a million! x