She needed a cat.
That wasn't entirely true, but a cat would provide companionship. A cat could keep to itself on the days her work stretched into the late hours.
Days that had become frequent.
No, she corrected, what she needed more than anything else was a champagne flute, filled to the brim with wine. Lingonberry wine, her new favorite.
She popped her lunch leftovers into the microwave and uncorked the bottle.
That hit the spot.
She pulled her laptop out of its case, swung her folded legs beside her, and began checking her numerous emails.
In her career of choice, the work never stopped.
Come in, Clare. Hey, Clare! You there? asked theresasunineverycloud.
Spotting the instant message from her old roommate, Clare Arnold set down her wine and poised her fingers over the keys.
Donna! she replied from yeahitsclaredontstare. Hey, girl. Been a while.
Tell me about it, typed Donna Martin. So sorry. I've meant to chat more, but life's been crazy. What's the last thing we talked about?
Your cousin, I think, said Clare. Gina? Is that her name?
Gina. Right. I told you she moved in?
You did, and also that Brandon and Val left. Still can't believe Brandon and Kel called off their wedding.
It was a shock for sure. Gina's actually the biggest reason I'm messaging.
She is?
She's been trying to flirt with David.
And you're jealous?
No, Gina doesn't stand a chance with David. But it's not about that. I noticed how unresponsive he's been to her and to all of us. Clare, he's down in the dumpiest of dumps. Kel and I are starting to worry about him. So are Mel and Jackie. We thought it might be nice for him to get away for a bit, maybe go visit you in Paris. He needs a break from his radio show. He's depressing all of his listeners. He got yelled at by his producer and I think he's thisclose to losing the show, which will depress him even more.
What do Brandon and Steve say? Clare sent.
Steve went off with Dylan to parts unknown. Brandon's practically off the grid.
Parts unknown? Dylan? He's back?
Well, he was.
How did Kel handle it?
You know Kelly's my best friend, the sister I never had.
I sense a 'but' in there.
But. Between you and me?
Whatever you tell me stays in this IM.
Then badly. Kel handled it horribly. Dylan lied to her about when he left Bren and then when David and I told the gang that something had happened to Bren, Kel was a total bitch about it. Worse than a bitch. A mega bitch. It's like just hearing Bren's name in relation to Dylan sets her off. I don't get it. Kel keeps saying she loves Matt, but I don't think she does. Except, I don't think she wants Dylan, either. Honestly, I think she misses Brandon and is afraid of being alone. But I'm one to talk.
Clare paused in a second readthrough, her glossed lips forming an open cavern.
Hold on. What? Something happened to Brenda? Was Brandon with her? Is he okay?
She had seen Brenda Walsh once. No words were exchanged between them, but Clare thought it important to follow up her inquiry about Brandon with a question over Brenda's own wellbeing.
She thought of Brandon Walsh. Thinking of Brandon led to thoughts of her ex, which Clare had desperately attempted to rid herself of.
She switched to thinking of Val, the woman whose antics had often confused Clare. Val wanted so desperately to be liked by all of them, but had more often than not pushed them away through her actions.
There was a time when Clare believed she and Valerie Malone could become friends, bonded by a mutual love of gymnastics and a mutual hatred of beauty pageants. The animosity between Val and Clare's friend Kelly Taylor had rendered that difficult.
Clare remembered that Val had once told her about Brenda, that they had been close as children.
She wondered if she still had Val's number.
How's Val handling it? Clare typed. The twins are her oldest friends, right?
I don't know. I haven't been able to get through to any of them since Dylan left again. Even Steve has been out of touch. Kel told me not to worry, that Steve would call us if it was serious, but I'm worried. I hate long-distance and I especially hate not having an update on Bren. Maybe we aren't as close as we used to be, but I still care about her; y'know?
I fully understand.
And God, I miss Brandon.
So had Clare.
She snatched at her mobile, searching for Brandon's number.
She was stunned to see several missed calls from her ex, a man she hadn't spoken with in going on two years.
As a distraction, Clare typed that she would welcome a visit from David Silver, but that she had left Paris for a more northern residence due to a relocation within her job.
Donna asked for more details. She told Clare she would email over David's flight information. Clare questioned if David was in need of a passport, and was told that David's passport was still valid from his brief Japanese tour with the internationally-known musician Babyface.
Clare had almost forgotten about David's short-lived fame.
She turned the conversation towards Donna, asking about the happenings in Donna's own life. She learnt about the shop Donna had opened with Kelly, then learnt that Donna had begun developing mixed feelings about her relationship with some guy named Noah.
Don, if you're unhappy, break up with him, Clare wrote.
Donna always made situations far more complicated than they needed to be, thought Clare with a frustrated sigh.
I can't, said Donna. I'm afraid what he'll do.
You think he'll get violent? Clare worriedly clacked away.
She'd seen Donna through her abusive relationship with Ray Pruit, her lackluster relationship with NFL hopeful Joe Bradley, her brief entanglement with the hunky Cliff Yeager, and the on-again, off-again-but-mostly-off love story between Donna and Clare's own ex, David.
Clare had no problem with inflicting bodily harm on Noah if he pulled a Ray.
Not with me, said Donna, but maybe with himself. What if he turns back to the bottle? I'd never forgive myself for just walking away like that.
It's not your job to fix people.
That's what D'Shawn said.
Wine dove from Clare's lips. She hurriedly dabbed at the spill before the bold color stained her coffee table.
D'Shawn? Hardell? D'Shawn Hardell? D'Shawn's back in the picture and you didn't lead with that?
Calm yourself. He didn't move back or anything. He's only in LA until after March Madness. I saw him at the After Dark, hanging out with his sister.
And?
And what?
You talked to him about Noah. There's an and in there.
And nothing. He asked about me. I asked about him. It was a nice catch-up.
After which I'm guessing you got his number.
He knows Daddy's an NBA fan. Said Daddy could call and D'Shawn would introduce Daddy to his favorite teams.
A convenient excuse.
On that note, I gotta go. These clothes aren't gonna design themselves. But let's not wait so long to chat next time, okay?
Okay. If you hear anything about the Walshes, let me know.
Will do. Au revoir, or whatever you say now!
Au revoir works. See you around, babe. Good luck with the store. xx
Good luck with the job! The beach house misses you. And so do I!
The job.
That reminded Clare of why she had sat down in front of her laptop to begin with: the mound of paperwork she had to get through.
Formulas. Theories. Scientific reports. Qualitative data. Journals from experts located all over the world.
Each of them hypothesizing on one facet.
The brain.
It had fascinated her since leaving California following her graduation. Her father, the former chancellor of California University, had suffered a stroke whilst living in Paris. It had been on the minor side, thankfully resulting in little damage. The experience had led to Clare switching her topic of choice.
She had studied everything she could get her hands on about the brain, and after a year of study had been permitted to start sitting in on brain surgeries.
It was in one of those surgeries where she had met Kai, a neurosurgeon close in age to Clare.
It had been Kai who recommended Clare for the relocation, and Kai who had given Clare the courage to step away from her primary role as her father's daughter - a role she had clung to since the passing of her young mother.
Not that she didn't still speak to her father daily. As opposite as they were in personality, Clare unabashedly considered her father her closest companion.
Even if he had begun sharing his excitement over the future, hypothetical grandchildren Clare had no desire to bear anytime soon.
"Never say never," Milton Arnold had cheerfully told his daughter following her most recent protest at the idea. "Kai seems a nice fellow."
"Kai's gay," Clare had replied.
"That's a shame," said her father. "He will make someone a lovely son-in-law. Brandon Walsh would have too, you know."
"Yes, I know," Clare had said. "Bonsoir, Daddy."
"Bonsoir, ma petite plume."
His little feather, he had taken to calling Clare. She supposed the name fit. She had been floating around since leaving California, wondering if she had made the right choice when she decided to leave her life behind to follow her father.
When she started to question, she took refuge in the journals.
But they weren't bringing her refuge. Nor was the wine; not when her mobile remained in her peripheral vision.
Taunting her with three missed calls, and one name pulled up in her contacts.
She wondered where life had brought him.
"Well, isn't this a surprise!" he said. "I was about to call you."
"You were?" she asked.
"I was reading up and saw that you're working with research in neuroscience. Scratch that. You're a, and I quote, up-and-coming expert in the field who shows great promise? Unquote."
"Ah. You're reading the article."
"As it happens, I've got a sister who can use your expertise."
"That's why I'm calling," said Clare. "I was chatting with Donna and she made it seem like something had happened to the both of you. I wanted to check in, make sure you're good."
"Fine on my end," said Brandon. "It's Bren. Her doctor told me about someone named Edvin who specializes in memory research. Edvin pointed me to Sofia, Sofia directed me to Ivan, Ivan said to try Kai, and guess who Kai recommended?"
"Six degrees of separation?" asked Clare.
"Six degrees of separation," confirmed Brandon with a slight chuckle.
"Of all the people you could've spoken with, you spoke to Kai," she laughed. It had barely been an hour since she had wished Kai Lakso a good night. "I'm not sure how much help I'll be, but I'll do anything for you, Brandon. You know I will."
"I appreciate it."
Brandon spoke in detail about Brenda's situation and how her doctor thought neuroscience research could help.
Clare expressed her heartfelt sympathy. Her instinct said to ask how Dylan had handled the news, before recalling what Donna had messaged.
How things changed, Clare thought. When she had still been around, Dylan had been abroad with Brenda, Brandon had been on the West Coast with Kelly, and Val had lived in the room Donna had told Clare now belonged to Noah.
The same way Clare's old room in the beach house had been infiltrated by Donna's cousin, Gina Kincaid.
Asking Brandon about his job in Washington, Clare was shocked to hear of his move.
She was nothing less than gobsmacked when he told her where he, Brenda, and Val were all staying.
On the other side of her town.
Perhaps Disneyland was onto something.
"So, what do you say?" asked Brandon. "Will you consider Bren's case?"
"I'd like to meet with Brenda," said Clare. "In a perfect world, I'd tell you we've been working on a new drug that will return all of her memories and clear up all of her cognitive difficulties. But that would be a lie, and I prefer to not deal in lies."
"I expected as much."
"However," said Clare, "if you can get the notes sent over from her doctor, I'd be happy to look at them, review with the team, and see if there's any way we can use the research to help make everything a little easier for her. And who's to say there won't be a drug like that in the future? Science is always discovering new developments."
Brandon expressed his profound gratitude. He assured Clare that he would speak with Brenda before scheduling any appointments.
"You're a good brother," said Clare. "Wish I'd had a sibling like you."
"I've been the complete opposite of a good brother," said Brandon. "It took almost losing my sister - my twin sister, the person who still manages to know me better than I know myself even when everything else is out of her grasp - for me to realize. I'm never gonna forgive myself for that."
"It's called being human."
"It's called being an asswipe."
Upon the end of her conversation with Brandon, Clare decided to try calling Val.
She left a voicemail, then sent a text as follow-up.
She couldn't message Donna. Brenda, and therefore Brandon, had become possible work. Clare wasn't permitted to speak of her work outside of the lab.
Instead of messaging Donna with an update on the Walshes, Clare listened to the voicemail she had tried to ignore.
What little voicemail there was.
"You know, when someone you know tells you hi, it's customary to tell them hi back," said the gruff voice. "Or am I just another ex you left behind, stranded on a beach?"
"What are you talking about? You were hardly stranded. As I recall, you turned your back on me."
"That's what happens when you leave the guy you say you love for your Daddy," he snipped. "Nice to know how easily I can be discarded for Europe. You've remembered wrong, by the way. You turned your back on me. I was the one left brokenhearted. You didn't give a shit."
"Get to the point of this call before I hang up."
"This isn't the reason I called, but I told you hi. Earlier today."
"When you called three times?"
"That was after. Dylan wants you to talk to Brandon."
"Funny. I just got off the phone with Brandon."
"Well. Then my job here is done."
"Not so fast, Sanders. What the hell do you mean, you told me hi?"
"When I saw you. You walked right by, like I'd blended into the storefront," said Steve. "Oh, and you dropped your notes. Might want to be more careful about that, unless you want a whole bunch of strangers knowing what you do for a living."
Clare pressed Steve for an explanation as she hurriedly rifled through her notes to determine which ones had gone missing.
If she had been gobsmacked to learn about the twins' residence, she could not think of an adequate enough word to express her shock over her ex Steve Sanders staying in a hotel close to her home.
"I'm gonna need those notes back," she said. "I'm guessing it happened at the end of lunch. I was in a hurry to get back to the lab and didn't see you. You can drop them off with the receptionist."
"Oh no," said Steve. "The only way you're getting these notes back is if I get a proper hello. It's the least you can do after ditching me almost two years ago."
"If you really think you can say things like that and then ask for a proper hello -"
"Don't know what you're talking about; I'm only asking for a quick hi."
More like a quickie, Clare thought.
"If you've turned my innocent request into something sexual, that's on you," said Steve, with a smirk so blatant that the phone couldn't hide it.
"Innocence isn't in your vocabulary, Steve."
"I'm a changed man, Arnold. I'll only sleep with the woman who'll stick around. I know from experience that isn't you."
"When did I become the bad guy in our relationship?"
"We don't have a relationship," he said. "You made sure of that. Last time I'll date a Daddy's girl."
"Hanging up now."
"But if you want to be friends again…" Steve drifted off.
"Were we ever really friends?"
"No. I guess we weren't."
"So, the address to my office is -"
"Coffee, lunch, or dinner."
"Steve."
"Coffee, lunch, or dinner," he repeated. "It's the only way you're getting your notes back."
"I could press charges for theft."
"After which I'd take you to court for wasting my time. Going up against a Sanders would be a lot more costly than just agreeing to dine with me."
"You're incorrigible."
"I don't know what that means, but I do have access to a human dictionary and can easily find out."
"Human dictionary?"
"Andrea," he reminded her. "I swear her parents must've fed her the dictionary when other parents were feeding their kids strained peas."
"Ask Andrea the charges for stealing someone's personal property."
"It's not stealing if I plan to give it back."
Clare glowered at the chandelier hanging from her ceiling.
"Breakfast," she said. "I'll meet you for breakfast."
"Which I assume includes coffee."
"Goodbye, Steve."
"Text me the deets, Arnold. Also, what's neuromodudalation?"
"Neuromodulation. I'll tell you at breakfast."
"Looking forward to it."
"You better bring those notes."
"Au revoir," said Steve.
"Your pronunciation is terrible. It's -"
The dial tone prevented Clare from the French lesson she had intended to give Steve.
She'd tell him at breakfast before Steve offended half the population of France.
If his French was that bad, she wondered if he had even tried to speak the language around them.
She herself had learnt a bit, tacking onto the several languages she already spoke fluently.
Of course, she had Kai to help with that.
So much for getting any work done, Clare thought as she began to research the local charges for property theft.
And which crowded restaurant could make a good meeting place where she wouldn't have to talk to her ex.
xx
He had sat down to research. In researching, he had begun to type.
He had typed six and a half pages when he realized what he had begun.
A play.
A play of Brenda's life, for her reading pleasure.
He had never written a play before. He found he rather enjoyed the concept.
He changed up the setting, changed around people's names, and nearly missed the time.
Dylan rushed around, trying to prepare himself for the day and still arrive on-time to meet Brenda.
It had always been the other way around, with Brenda's terrible time clock.
He blamed the play.
He showed up just as the car radio displayed the number nine.
Then proceeded to wait for precisely forty-five nerve-wracking minutes until he saw his former friends climb out of an unrecognizable vehicle.
"There you are." Dylan jogged over. "I was getting worried." In an ordinary circumstance, he would have joked about Brenda's internal clock. "Brought Bren's tea. Didn't know if it would be a normal day or a ginger day, so I made both." He held out two thermoses.
"It'll be a ginger day," said Brandon.
"We had a rough morning," said Val.
Dylan made the mistake of asking for details.
Jim had taken it upon himself to list to Brenda every member of their family tree and specifically point out the few that were nurses to prove that he was not, had never been, and would never be a nurse.
"Dad's of the approach that we need to fix Bren," said Brandon. "He thinks we've given up too soon."
"Doesn't surprise me," said Dylan, wishing Jim were standing beside them for Dylan to react the way he wanted to. He hunched beside the car door. "Bren?"
"Dylan?" she faintly asked.
"'Tis I," he confirmed. "May I come in?"
Brenda scooched enough to let Dylan slide in beside her.
"Anything I can do?" he asked.
"Would it be terribly rude to request that you hold me?" Brenda clutched her head in both hands. "I know we've just met; well, that I've just met you, but," she gritted her teeth, "but the world won't stop bouncing, and you've -"
"Got very nice arms," finished Dylan with the shadow of a smile. "I will gladly hold you."
Brenda burrowed into his chest. Dylan's arms instinctually wrapped around her, as if Brenda had never been apart from them.
He would be content to sit in that position every day for the rest of time.
"Is that better?" he whispered into her hair.
"Much." She pulled back to examine his arms. "Your arms have a healing quality. Maybe because of all the time they've spent in the ocean."
"You may use my arms anytime you need healed. Or if you don't, whichever. Don't even have to ask. Shoulder's up for grabs, too," said Dylan.
"Bran says you're going to be spending the days with me."
"That's the plan. What do you think about it?"
"I think I like having your arms nearby when the train could be coming 'round the bend at any moment."
"They like being nearby."
He wanted to drop a kiss to Brenda's hair, to her forehead, to her cheek and nose.
Her ear would have been even more out of the question.
"I find the waves to be extremely calming," said Dylan, rubbing his hand in a gentle circle down Brenda's arm. "Cathartic. Just you, surrounded by the limitless power of nature. Say the word and I'll take you to them."
"Oh, I do like the waves."
"If you want and the doc says it's okay, I'll even teach you to surf."
"Teach me to surf?" Brenda radiated at the mere thought. "Did I surf before?"
"On occasion."
"Then I think I'd like to learn again."
"Deal." Dylan smoothed out her hair. "World stopped bouncing?"
She confirmed that it had, and allowed him to help her out of the car.
Dylan headed for Brandon as Brenda joined Valerie.
"If Jim does something like that again, get me in on the call," said Dylan. "I'll happily give the old man a piece of my mind. It's about time someone does."
"I'm not sure he will," said Brandon. "Mom was furious when she heard that Bren had started to cry and complain of a migraine. Dad means well, but -"
"But he wants Bren's recovery to be on his time clock, not hers."
"Exactly." Brandon assured Brenda was occupied before adding, "I haven't given up, for the record, despite what Dad may think. I'm still looking into methods we can use to further help Bren, but since none of them ensure a full recovery, I don't want to get her hopes up. Or Val's. Keep that between us?"
"It's kept," said Dylan.
He asked if Brandon remembered Clare, just as Brandon asked Dylan the same.
"I just spoke to her," said Brandon. "Clare said she'd been messaging with Donna and wanted to know if Bren and I were alright."
"Interesting timing," said Dylan. "Steve was telling us just last night about Clare's career. I told him to ask her to call you, in case she could help Bren."
"You aren't going to be trying to fix Bren, are you?"
"I'll be as patient as she needs," Dylan assured. "But don't think I'm not gonna be talking to every specialist and research scientist under the sun when I see her in that much pain. Maybe I can't erase her suffering, but I can damn well try to soften it. I'm guessing that wasn't even the full extent."
"Sadly, you'd be correct. That was mild compared to how she'd get in Kempsey. Still happens sometimes."
"Do you think Clare can help?"
"Not sure, but she does have the resources."
"And I have the money."
"Dylan -"
"Now is not the time for your Midwest pride, Walsh. The fact of the matter is I have the money none of you do and I'll be using it to look for ways to help Bren. End of discussion."
"That hardly constitutes a discussion."
"Because there isn't one to be had. I've made up my mind."
Dylan had also made up his mind to use his fortune to help the little man take on FreightCorp, to monetarily support modifications to Australia's rail system, to donate money to the families of his late friends.
He would set up a theatre scholarship in their names, and in Brenda's.
He would also send money to the other victims of the crash.
Brandon didn't need to know any of that.
Honors shouldn't be handed out for benevolence.
It was something Dylan's father had never understood. Jack had received accolades at charity functions, university wings dedicated in his name, articles boasting of Jack's charitable endeavors, the overall prestige of being Jack McKay.
Only for it all to come roaring down when Jack's schemes were busted.
Dylan would rather give quietly, behind-the-scenes, as he had to the rehab that had helped him piece back together his life four years previously.
Brandon checked that Dylan had studied the information Brandon had emailed over following their meeting. Satisfied that Dylan had and had taken his study further by conducting research of his own, Brandon embraced Brenda. He opened her notebook to write where she would find him that evening.
Dylan recalled from Brandon's notes that Brenda couldn't be told meeting points without written reminders.
"How's the baby?" he turned to Val.
"You know about the baby?" asked Brenda. She stood watching Brandon's car curve around the corner until it became nothing more than a speck on the highway.
"Sure do," said Dylan. "Val told me."
"Baby's doing great," said Val.
"Val said we could get ice-cream," said Brenda. "On account of the baby wants it."
"I told Bren we would ask you about getting ice-cream," Val clarified.
"If the baby wants it, we'll get it," said Dylan. He would have assumed that Brenda had chosen to use Val's cravings to her advantage, if he didn't already know Brenda to arguably be the world's number one fan of ice-cream.
Everywhere they went, every new city they had stepped into, Brenda had dragged him to a local ice-cream shop with the declaration that it would help them blend in to be eating ice-cream in January.
He had teased her that it was merely a cop-out for her sweet tooth, to which Brenda would reply that Dylan loved her sweet tooth when he could lick dessert off of her lips.
Dylan had heartily agreed, and proceeded to indulge.
God, how badly he wanted to indulge.
They spent half the morning browsing art galleries. Brenda said viewing the abstract paintings eased her mind. She didn't need to know what they were about or who had painted them. She could simply become lost in the brushstrokes and texture, imagining the paintings to be whatever she wanted them to be.
Val had to stop Dylan from buying up every painting that Brenda showed the tiniest bit of interest in.
Dylan stood in the queue. He eyed Brenda's layered waist, debating on whether to bring it closer.
No. He wouldn't add to her fear. The first time had been a blessing in disguise. The second had offered her a balm.
A third would be pushing it.
Shoving his pain aside, Dylan decided he would wait for Brenda to feel comfortable enough to come to him.
His hand balled in his hair as his other hand fished out his wallet to withdraw copper coins with heraldic designs.
It did surprise Dylan when Brenda opted for a triple scoop of mango-melon instead of her typical butter pecan.
He chose cloudberry, whilst Val decided on a mix of mascarpone and lemon-lime.
"All cravings satisfied, ladies?" he asked, stretching his arm out over the back of Brenda's chair.
"You bet," chirped Brenda and Valerie in unison.
"That kid will sure have one confused sweet tooth, wanting ice-cream made from fruit." Dylan stood to clear the table. "Feel like going somewhere else?"
"What'd you have in mind?" Brenda hooked her arm through Valerie's.
"Well, Brandon said you like music."
"I do," Brenda nodded vigorously, all head pain having evidently disintegrated.
Dylan knew better than to hope that Brenda's pain wouldn't return, but he hoped for it nevertheless.
"So," he said, "I figured we'd find you a music you could listen to without having to concentrate. You won't be able to understand the words, which lets you focus solely on the rhythm. On the emotion."
"Oh, I like that plan."
"Except I wasn't sure how you'd be with large crowds or flashing lights so," Dylan shyly eyed her, "how do you feel about rooftops?"
"I like looking at them," said Brenda. "They sparkle."
"They do sparkle," he said. "I found a heated one where we can sit and listen, far away from the edge."
"Good. I hate the edge."
He knew she did.
"Leave it to Dylan McKay to find a way to make this romantic," said Val, raising her eyes to the heavens. "And people say you don't have a romantic bone in your body."
"Who says that?" asked Dylan.
"People," she said offhandedly.
People who didn't know him, clearly.
"McKay?" asked Brenda. "McKay," she repeated, allowing the word to roll around her tongue. "McKay. I like it."
Do you like it enough to accept it as yours? Dylan inwardly questioned.
Feeling like the morose character in the lyrics of an old upbeat boy band song, he ached to hold Brenda's hand.
"Guess I didn't properly introduce myself," he said sheepishly, keeping his hands by his side. "Dylan McKay. Dylan Michael McKay, if you want to get really specific. I mainly go by McKay or Dyl, but answer to most things. Within reason."
"I prefer Dicklyn," said Val.
Dylan chose to ignore her; at least until he thought of a good retort.
On second thought, it would likely be better to not retort to a woman entering her second trimester.
He resolved to ignore all of Val's attempts to piss him off.
Besides, he concluded, he had been a Dicklyn.
He would work to erase his tainted image.
"Don't be rude," Brenda scolded. "He just bought us ice-cream. Brenda Analiese Walsh," she added, jutting out her hand. "But most people call me Bren."
And some people call you Baby. No, not some people. One person. Me. I call you that. Mainly cause then you pretend I'm Patrick Swayze.
Brenda had taken to calling him Love, with the occasional Babes when out with their mates.
Dylan tried to dispel his concern that she would never think of him in that way again and wished that he had called his Baby when she had been on tour, if only to wish her luck on the road and apologize for staying behind.
Whilst he thought he shouldn't hold Brenda's hand, Dylan didn't see any harm in shaking it for longer than considered necessary.
"So you're Brandon's sister," he said.
"Actually, Brandon's my brother," she said. "Twin brother. He just likes to think I'm his sister."
When Brenda withdrew her hand, Dylan felt the immediate effects.
"Where do you come from, Brenda Walsh?" he asked, continuing on in their charade.
"Minnesota," she answered. "Although I'm quite convinced I was actually born in Europe and they forgot to tell me. Where do you come from, Dylan McKay?"
"California," he said. "SoCal area. Though you might be onto something, 'cause I'm pretty sure I was born in Europe, too."
"I could see that."
"I'll take it as a compliment."
"I'm Val Malone," said Valerie. "Born in Minnesota, prefer Buffalo, will probably end up in Manhattan or Philly, keep my middle name to myself. Oh, and I'm named after Valerie Harper, because Abby was a huge fan of MTM. But I like to think my style is more Mary's than Rhoda's. Is anyone else getting thirsty?"
"Here." Brenda withdrew a bottle of water from her satchel and handed it to Val. "Drink up."
"Thanks," said Val as she took a swig.
Dylan wondered how long it would be until Brandon trusted him with Brenda's solo care.
"I have a good friend who's been wanting to meet you, Bren," he said. "Would you be up for it?"
"I think I would," said Brenda. "But you should -"
"Ask Brandon," Dylan finished. "We will."
He sent a quick text to Brandon about the possibility of Steve occasionally joining in on Brenda's care.
His request had been purely selfish. If Steve came along, he would occupy Val and give Dylan more of a chance to converse uninterrupted with Brenda.
"Brandon's notes say you usually take an afternoon nap?" asked Dylan.
"My energy drains faster than most," said Brenda. "Probably because of the long nights, or maybe because of the paperweight in my head. I like to sleep for a bit to get reenergized before the next activity."
"Can I take her to the hotel?" Dylan asked Val.
"You live in a hotel?" asked Brenda.
"I'm staying in one." Dylan tried to hide his amusement at the full circle their lives had taken. "Didn't know how long I'd be here."
"I hope you like it here," said Brenda. "Because I've decided I like having you around, and I'm not sure I'll be leaving anytime soon."
She didn't have a clue the rate Dylan's organs stridulated in response.
"I'll look into getting my own place," he said earnestly. "Val?"
"Let me text Bran," said Val.
Dylan was grateful to have Brandon approve the arrangement, with a few caveats.
He remained outside of the bedroom, keeping an eye on the door in case Brenda awoke startled.
"I hope I'm doing this alright," he told Val. "Bren never let me take care of her as much as I would have liked. Hell; she barely let me take care of her at all. She was far more likely to care for me."
"I had the same problem," said Val. "Since we were kids. Even when Bren fractured her arm skiing in third, she wouldn't let anyone else help her. Cindy was the exception, and that's only because Cindy had the dessert."
Dylan wondered if he could get Val to share other stories from her childhood with the twins.
"I hope Bren's able to stand on her own soon because I know that's what she wants," continued Val, "but in the meantime; call me selfish, but I like that she trusts me enough to feel she can rely on me. That someone can. It's been a nice change from constantly letting everyone down."
Dylan set a curious gaze on Val.
"What?" she asked.
"Look, I know I don't usually ask these kinds of things, but Silver's my friend and you; well, you're you, so, what did happen between you and Silver? Last I knew, Bren was saying you went to the West Bev reunion together. Although beats me why there even are five-year high school reunions when most of us couldn't wait to desert those halls."
"I got too dark. Got too involved in his work. Went over the top. Surprise surprise, right? I did the same thing with Colin, but at least he grew to appreciate it. Then I put the After Dark on the line for him, my money on the line, bailed him out, stood beside him when the rest of them turned their backs, and how does he thank me? Skips town, steals my car, nearly makes me lose my club. The cherry on it all? Professing his undying devotion to Kelly. Go figure."
"Colin. There's a name I nearly forgot."
"You and everyone else," said Val. "With your gang, it's outta sight, outta mind."
"My gang?"
"I can't really call them mine, can I? You fuck up once with them and they're thrilled to see you fuck up again. Speaking of fuckups. Here's another name for ya: Noah."
"Noah? As in, Hunter? The guy crashing in yours and Bren's old room?"
"Another ex," said Val. "Another relationship I fucked up. I sure get around, don't I? Kelly would ask when my pimp's paging."
"Kelly would say that?" asked Dylan.
"Kelly did say that," said Val. "To Donna. She thought I didn't hear, but I heard."
Dylan was left baffled.
"Kel isn't exactly Little Miss Innocent herself, and yet somehow I'm always made out to be the slut," said Val. "Why is the chick who likes to have a good time the one who's constantly shamed for it?"
"Hey." Dylan held up a hand. "I'm the last person to judge. Clearly."
"Hence the Dicklyn."
"A double entendre," Dylan realized. "Nice one."
"I can be clever when I want to be."
"I think you're more clever than you give yourself credit for."
"And I think you're a lot more emotional than you project, especially when it comes to that girl in there." Valerie pointed towards the bedroom.
"Always have been," said Dylan. "Bren just gets to me like no one else. I truly mean that. No one else has ever understood me the way she has."
"And here I thought Kelly was the one who did that," said Val sarcastically.
Dylan accepted that he deserved her comment.
"Kel tried, or maybe pretended to try, but Kel has her own problems."
"I know. Brandon was around for most of them," said Val. "Call me crazy, but if a guy sat by my bedside daily and waited for me to wake up, I'd marry him in a heartbeat. 'Course, then Brandon just had to go and cheat on her. I swear, this group cheats more than any group I've ever known."
Dylan wished he had sat by Brenda's bedside.
"I guess you and Kelly are a bit like David and I," said Val. "Maybe we're just too dark for each other."
"Except the Val I'm talking to now isn't the same Val I knew before," said Dylan. "And if Silver has anything to do with that, then maybe you help each other. Kel and I; from the beginning, we've torn each other down and torn apart others. We've reveled in that, Val. It isn't healthy. I needed a whole fucking drug addiction, the bottle, and fucking dream hypnotherapy to try to find some kind of connection with her."
"Beats me why you'd even want a connection with her."
"But Bren and I," Dylan continued, "we've always been different. We didn't need hypnotherapy, parental problems, or unwanted addictions to bond. Even now, even not knowing me from Adam, she still gets me. She understands that I need to be around to help her. It's why she assured me that it was okay with her if I stick around."
"Okay, I am not ruining my mascara," sniffled Val.
"Hormones?"
"Something like that."
A train appeared in the window. Mentally preparing for Brenda's screams, Dylan grinned when the train rolled by with muffled sound.
"They said it was the best hotel in town, but I didn't know that includes protecting our girl from the train," he said proudly.
Brenda awoke shortly afterwards, and thanked Dylan for the best sleep she had experienced in ages.
He sat ramrod straight to avoid going over and kissing the sleep from Brenda's eyelids, or messing with her tousled hair.
Somehow, in her barely-awake state, Brenda appeared more fucking gorgeous than usual.
He swore she carried a glow about her person.
That glow heightened when she realized where he had brought the women.
"The opera!" she exclaimed. "We're gonna listen to the opera!"
Their seating arrangements overlooked the open ceiling of a small, regional opera sung in a language none of the three knew.
"I can't believe you brought the opera to me," said Brenda. "Oh, I've so been wanting to go."
"She has?" Dylan asked Val.
"She has," said Val. "We weren't sure how she'd handle it."
"I've missed theatre," said Brenda. "I'd like to act again eventually, if I'm able, but my memorization skills are severely lacking and it hurts my head to concentrate on the dialogue."
"We could look into improv," said Dylan. "Maybe take an improv class together. If the class is too much, we could have a mini-improv class of our own."
"I think we need to keep him around," announced Brenda.
Val chortled.
"You just like him because he's attractive," she said.
"That's just part of it," Brenda admitted. She glanced warily at Dylan's coat. "Is that shoulder offer good for any time?"
"Any time you feel like it," he told her, nudging out his shoulder.
Brenda rested her head on it, turning her attention back to the over-embellished costumes below that accompanied powerful sopranos and acoustic bass tones.
Dylan didn't know how he was going to bring himself to part from Brenda when six o'clock rolled around.
"Do you mind if I put my arm around you?" he softly asked her, not wanting to think of their curfew.
Fuck that six o'clock curfew.
Fuck her medication.
He corrected himself on the latter. He couldn't curse Brenda's medication. Required daily doses surely meant it was imperative for her health.
He could, however, curse the train that had created the need for her medication, and did so gladly.
Dylan hoped that at some point, he would be the one to give Brenda her medication.
He further hoped that she would get to the point where she no longer needed it.
In answer, Brenda wordlessly moved Dylan's arm to cup her back.
He murmured his gratitude into her hair. Brandon had told him of the need for Brenda's haircut. Dylan wondered if she planned to grow it back out.
He loved her long hair.
He especially loved raking his fingers through her long hair, whilst they lay in bed.
Her studying her scripts. Him reading his novels.
Writing the play, combined with the reintroduction to his girl and the glee on Brenda's face as she swayed to the music that burst out below them, whirred Dylan into idea mode.
If his Bren couldn't recall their best memories, he would simply have to recreate them.
Or perhaps make them better. Her first experience with Paganini would not be followed by an encounter with a gasoline-covered float and a crazed teenager.
He would enlist Val to help, maybe Steve. Possibly Brandon, though that would take some urging.
Andrea had danced with Dylan and Brenda at the beach club's luau the summer before their junior year. Perhaps Andrea could also be of help.
The more Dylan plotted, the more enthralled he became.
He wondered if Cindy had held onto Brenda's panda dress, or her 1930s-era Halloween costume. He hadn't seen either of those outfits amongst Brenda's London wardrobe.
Dylan wondered if Donna would be willing to enter Dylan's storage unit and pull out his own costume that perfectly matched Brenda's.
He'd pay for the shipping, both from LA and from Hong Kong.
If Cindy didn't have the dresses, perhaps Donna could either track them down or recreate them herself.
He would need to speak with Brandon to see how much information Donna could be told.
"I've been thinking about it," said Brenda during a pause in the production, "and I've decided since we're gonna be spending so much time together, since I like your arms a whole lot, and since I think I'm in love with your hotel bed, it only makes sense for us to be friends."
He'd accept that.
For the moment.
-x
Hope you had a nice new year's!
Had to get this chapter out before I could even consider Itero. Hopefully that one will be next.
Sources: Google + the websites for Brain Injury Canada, Everyday Health, Flint Rehab, Great Speech, Head Injury Association of Northern Nevada, Lotsa Helping Hands, SpinalCord.
Thanks a million! x