A/N: Thank you brallie for showing me what love is, even if I'm heartbroken romeo and juliet didn't get the ending they deserved. At least we got a beautiful story. One that, in my mind, will always be endgame.

BRANDON

This was it.

The day he'd wondered about his entire life-okay perhaps that was a slight exaggeration, but Brandon Foster was a known 'romantic.' It was only fitting that even at a young age he'd imagined what his wedding would look like. He supposed it began with his discovery of his mom and dad's wedding photos, which, unlike most families, weren't on display around the house, but rather tucked away in an old photo-album. Looking back on it Brandon could see that was a sure sign in itself of the turbulence within his parents relationship, but at the time of discovery he'd been only four. Old enough to recognize his parents constant bickering wasn't normal, but yet young enough to not question the fragility of their marriage.

His mom, Stephanie Foster, or Stef as she preferred to be called, had found Brandon perched on the corner of his bed with the photo-album in hand. Whenever the story was retold Stef always said Brandon had been "holding onto the album as if life depended on it, but turning each page with a delicacy that resembled how one might interact with a newborn." Brandon would then tease her, labeling her description of the event as "dramatic," but he did not deny the impact the photos had on him, and at such a young age.

In the year following the discovery of the pictures Brandon, both independently and with Mike and Stef's input, fantasized and planned the details of his own wedding. Stef found it adorable, eagerly joining in on "her little-boy's fun." Mike, on the other-hand, was more concerned with Brandon's new-hobby, labeling it as "something young girls did, not big boys like Brandon," which, in turn, would start yet another argument between the two of them. The blonde insisting that "labels needed to be abolished, and Brandon could play with and talk about whatever the hell he wanted to, whether it was barbie dolls-which, for the record, he never played with-or baseball bats." Brandon always quietly slipped away to his bedroom when such arguments occurred, taking the photo album with him despite his dad's protests. Once Brandon was older he began to suspect there had been more to these arguments than what was verbalized. After all, it wasn't a coincidence that Stef and Mike fought whenever the photo-album appeared, and it certainly wasn't a coincidence that the book was hidden away in the attic. Anyone who knew them well enough could see they weren't happy with their marriage, and never really had been. Why else would their wedding photos be tucked away like some kind of secret they wanted to forget?

The divorce of Mike and Stef, and the introduction of Lena into their lives, brought Brandon a great amount of confusion and distress. He couldn't understand why his parents didn't love each other anymore, at least, "not like that" as his mom kept saying. What "that" meant was a complete mystery to him, because he couldn't tell the difference between platonic and romantic love. In fact, for months after the separation Brandon carried around the photo-album and pointed to pictures of his mom beaming up at his dad and saying things like, "but you were happy!" That particular memory caused a wave of guilt to wash over Brandon and he mentally reminded himself to apologize to Stef at some point-his actions could only have made things worse for her, especially at such a momentous moment in her life.

Eventually as Brandon got older he began to realize that the divorce of his parents didn't mean they loved him any less, and it didn't mean they loved each other any less, it just meant they didn't love each other the way husband and wife are supposed to. They worked better as colleagues, as friends. The photo-album was returned to it's previous place in the attic, and gradually life moved on.

Brandon never again did discuss the details of his future wedding. Nor, did he think much about it. His parents divorce had instilled within him a fear that he wasn't entirely conscious of. It had instilled within him the constant anxiety of the statistic that forty to fifty percent of marriages would end in divorce. He no longer deemed it useful to plan, or to become invested in, something that was complete fiction and, as depressing as it was to think about, might not be the 'til death do us part' it was so often synonymous with.

Slowly but surely the photo album faded to the back of Brandon's memory, only to be recalled on the rare occasion he would catch Stef beaming and Lena and think, "now that is what love is. She never did quite look at dad that way." And through the years Brandon grew from a young-boy into a moody teenager who was no longer captivated by a world of fantasy, although still a romantic at heart, he had become much more practical.

However, if Brandon had learned anything from his parents divorce and from Lena becoming his 'new mom,' it was that there was one thing he wanted more than anything: to make sure he married the right person when the time came. He didn't want to have any doubts, or risk making any kind of mistake. He didn't want to be like his parents. He didn't want to be unhappy in something as binding as 'in sickness and in health.' Brandon was happy-no ecstatic that his mom had found Lena, but he personally didn't want to waste any years married to someone who wasn't 'the one-' not that the years Stef and Mike had married were wasted-they weren't-but Brandon didn't want to have to go through divorce. He'd seen first hand how hard it had been on their little 'perfect' family, on his dad especially, and on him, as the child, as well. No, he didn't want to put his future children through the uncertainty he'd experienced.

Besides being very careful in all romantic endeavors-Brandon figured you either dated to break up, or you dated to marry-as a teenager he didn't think much about marriage, or the photo-album in the attic. Despite this, a few questions did circulate his mind every so often.

Where would his wedding be held? How would he propose? Who would be his bride? When would it happen? Would he be considered a young groom? An old one?

Brandon hoped it wasn't the latter. He was fairly certain he wanted to start establishing his future at a young age if at all possible. However, he recognized many couples didn't find one another until later on in life. Lena and Stef were a prime example of this: they were together ten-years before they 'tied the knot.' (Though mostly due to legal complications and Stef's personal reservations regarding marriage and it's meaning).They, unlike Mike and Stef, displayed their wedding photographs all around the house. Stef even carried one with her in her wallet, and Lena had one on her desk at Anchor Beach Charter. Frankly, Brandon couldn't help but find the situation pleasantly ironic: Stef had nothing to hide in regards to her marriage with Mike, and yet the photo-album was kept concealed in the attic to the point where their son didn't see any of the photographs until he accidentally stumbled across them himself. Whereas Stef-due to possible homophobia-had much more to hide in regards to her marriage with Lena, and yet the thought had crossed neither of the women's minds. Stef and Lena didn't care if the whole world knew they were together; in fact, they wanted the whole world to know they were together. They were proud to be together. They loved each other. They loved what their marriage represented.

Brandon wanted something similar to what his moms shared. He wanted to be able to curl his arm around his wife, smile and tell non-strangers and strangers alike "this is my wife..." Granted he wasn't immature or stuck in a fantasy. He knew relationships weren't always perfect, he knew marriage would be tough, but he was determined to be cautious with love, and to only consider marrying someone he truly wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

And perhaps, it was because of this determination, or simply Brandon's innate quality of being a 'romantic,' that brought him to the alter at the young age of twenty-three. It had been a rocky first few days in Turks and Caicos and, if Brandon was being completely honest, it didn't entirely fit, or really even come close to, any of the expectationshe'd had for his wedding growing up. It wasn't exactly providing him with any of the answers he'd expected from his questions, and yet, he couldn't deny it was providing him with answers. He just wasn't sure the answers were very 'him' for lack of a better term.

The first being where. Where would his wedding be held? As a child Brandon had pictured a small, intimate wedding and, or the record, his wedding was rather small. But he'd wanted his wedding to be small because the guests were complied of close friends and family, not because the guests couldn't afford a plane ticket to a destination wedding in Turks and Caicos. Mike, for example, was arriving late and none of his grandparents had been able to make it. It was for these reasons, among others, that Brandon wasn't pleased with the answer to where? He'd always thought his wedding would take place in his mother's backyard, or maybe surrounded by greenery in a forest with a rushing stream nearby. Despite living on the coast of San Diego, he'd never wanted sand or waves. He'd wanted something more quiet, personal, something that felt far away from the rest of the world.

The roaring of an ocean was much louder than that of a stream.

Brandon had never been one for festivities or extravagant trips. He was a bit of a homebody, not a world traveler. So, no, Turks and Caicos didn't fit what he had envisioned. Yet, just as Brandon wasn't one for fancy destinations, he wasn't one for arguing either, and since it was a tradition that the brides family hosted the wedding Brandon hadn't seen it fit to argue on their destination of choice. He preferred to pick and chose his battles, after all, where wasn't nearly as important as who. As long as he was marrying the right person they could get married in a back alley for all he cared.

The next question had been answered just over a year earlier, and that being how would he propose? Once again it didn't exactly fit the bill. It had been rather rushed and Brandon hadn't been even the slightest bit prepared. Heck, he hadn't been one-hundred percent certain he even wanted to propose. It had sorta just happened. As a child Brandon had always imagined playing his bride-to-be a piano piece and maybe singing a note or two. Something slightly cheesy, and yet, romantic as well. Something that would be a good story to tell, but wasn't a public affair. Again he'd wanted something personal, intimate, something just the two of them would witness. A memory they'd take to their graves. That is why he'd shocked himself by bending down on one knee in the middle of a crowded restaurant. It hadn't been personal, it hadn't been intimate, it hadn't been something only the two of them would witness. Instead, it had been frantic, unplanned, and something the two of them and another other fifty or so gathered customers would remember. He'd wanted something more personal, and quite a bit less public. And yet, after having the courage to actually buy the ring (and admittedly been slightly persuaded by his sister Mariana) he'd been at a complete loss on how to go through with it all. It wasn't much of a story, unless you count when Brandon accidentally spilt wine all over himself as he was coming to put the ring onto his girlfriend-no fiance-Eliza's finger. He never did get the deep purple stain from his nice white shirt. Was it simply a result of clumsiness? Or perhaps a sign that Eliza wasn't the girl for him? Brandon would ruminate over that for months.

In fact the only parameter his actual wedding did meet was the question of when would it happen? Brandon had always assumed, or hoped, he'd be a young groom. And he was, they both were really. So young. Too young, perhaps? Brandon shook the thought from his mind. He managed to quell his doubts by convincing himself that it was rather beautiful his expectations weren't being met. After all, what child grows up and has the perfect wedding they'd always imagined? He figured the number was next to none. A percentage way smaller than the one regarding divorce. The important thing was that he felt ready, and he did. Of course he felt ready. He'd been waiting for this moment since he was four. Waiting so see her walk down the aisle.

To see who?

Of all the questions four-year-old Brandon had asked himself, the most important had always been who? Who would be his bride? Who would be the mother of his children? Who would be the woman he would spend the rest of his life with? Would he feel pressure within himself to marry young? Would that cause him to make a rash decision? Would he be able to make his wife happy? Would she make him happy? Would they be happy together? He knew he would take care of her, but would she take care of him? He was tired of having his only role in relationship after relationship be that of a caretaker. He didn't want to be like Mike. He didn't want his role to be to save girls who weren't capable of saving themselves. He wanted to take care of someone who would take care of him back.

Someone like...

Brandon's gaze locked with Callie's. Callie Jacobs that is-or rather, Callie Adams-Foster as she was legally his sister now. She had been for years now, but Brandon knew they would never be brother and sister, no matter how many years passed or what a piece of paper said. There was simply too much history between them. No, Callie would always be his friend, his best-friend, his 'what if?' A chapter in his life that had never been explored to full-extent. A chapter in which Brandon had experienced some of his most incredible highs, and some of his most devastating lows. No, Callie would never be his sister. She couldn't be his sister, not after everything that had transpired between them. Not when, for longer than Brandon was willing to admit, she had answered his question as to who would he marry?

Callie was the first girl Brandon had 'dated' who he'd allowed himself to become completely and entirely vulnerable with. She was the first girl he'd allowed himself to fantasize with about the future. He could still recall every word they'd said to one another in the empty Independent Living Apartment almost seven-years earlier. It still pained him to think about how excited they'd been, how hopeful they'd been, him especially. They'd joked about silly things like kitchen tables and flat-screen tvs and where was the best spot in the apartment for his keyboard. They'd talked about pancakes and his promise to serenade Callie whenever she pleased, and then, he had. Serenaded her that is. Though their conversation may have felt fleeting and immature at the time, Brandon had been incredibly aware of the gravity behind it. The meaning behind their words. The plan to one day have an apartment together, to have a life, to have a family.

Yes, Callie Jacobs was the first girl-the only girl really-who led Brandon back up to the attic to revisit the tired photo album from his parents wedding. The first girl who made Brandon stop every time he passed by the photographs of Stef and Lena's wedding and compare them to that of Stef and Mike's. Callie was the first girl who began to fill in the blanks in four-year-old Brandon's questions, and the only girl who'd ever answered the question as to who? Who would he marry? For years following their multiple breakups and for years after she'd been adopted Callie had continued to remain Brandon's picture perfect bride even despite his constant reminder to himself that they "weren't meant to be. None of it was meant to be." Truthfully a small part of Brandon had been hoping fate would bring them together, hoping, even after he'd met and started dating Eliza, that maybe, just maybe they would find their way back to each other.

Maybe they'd get the happy ending they'd discussed prior to their first kiss.

Perhaps that was wrong of Brandon. Perhaps some would consider his want for Callie to be his bride as an 'emotional affair,' but Brandon didn't think so. He wasn't being dishonest to Eliza, and he hadn't been dishonest to Grace, or to Lou, or Tayla, or Cortney, or any of the other girls he'd dated while still harboring feelings for Callie. Brandon just figured it would always be there. The burning question of "what would've happened if we told." He'd always love Callie Jacobs, no matter who he ended up with and who she ended up with. Maybe that was wrong, but Brandon knew it couldn't be helped. Couldn't he fixed. And he'd come to terms with it, as heart-wrenching as those terms may have been.

Brandon's eyes held Callie's as she made her way up the aisle, and as she did so, for just a moment, Brandon got lost in her gaze. He got lost in the radiance of her beauty, and in her smile. He got so lost he convinced himself, if only for a split second, that she was walking down the aisle to him. That she was his bride and his answer to who? had been fulfilled. That who? was her. That she was coming to stand beside him at the alter...

Until, that is, she veered left and followed Mariana to stand beside the other bridesmaids. Eliza's bridesmaids. Brandon couldn't take his eyes away from Callie. Not just yet. He couldn't bring himself to look away. He couldn't bring himself to look down the aisle and see someone who wasn't Callie walking towards him. After an admittedly long amount of time he managed to tear his eyes off of Callie, and fix his attention towards the aisle. Towards his bride. Luckily, no one, except maybe Callie, had noticed his hesitation. All the guests were, as expected, enthralled by Eliza's elegance, her grace, her beauty. Her dress.

And Brandon couldn't deny she was beautiful, because she simply was. She was a wonderful person. She was kind, caring, funny, heck she was even a musician! There was no doubt in Brandon's mind that they had a connection, and that he did indeed love her. He should've felt lucky to marry her. He should've felt over-the-freaking-moon. He needed to push Callie from his mind, after all, it hadn't been until Callie had gotten involved in things that he'd begun to have doubts. This wasn't entirely true, but in that moment he found it easier to blame Callie for the complications than to look inside himself and question whether he wanted to go through with things. He had to go through with it. He wanted to go through with it. He needed to stop being a boy. He needed to stop being the sixteen-year-old version of himself. He was standing there, surrounded by friends and family, to declare himself eternally faithful to Eliza. To become her husband, and she, his wife.

This reminder gave Brandon a great surge of confidence and as Eliza joined him at the alter he silently willed the ceremony to go by quickly. He figured once it was done it was done and then there would truly be no going back, and no doubting his marriage, because, he would never get a divorce. Never. Ever. It only later occurred to him that wanting the ceremony to be over with was a giant red-flag in it of itself. A groom should never wish his wedding to be over, but rather, want to bask in it forever. After all, if you were lucky, it only happened once.

As the ceremony began Brandon felt distant from the whole ordeal, from Stef and Lena who were standing beside him at the alter as officiants, from the gathered friends and family, and even from Eliza, who, was smiling up at him like he was the only person to ever exist. Brandon looked down at her, but she seemed far away, even despite their close proximity of mere inches. No, he wasn't aware of anyone except Callie.

Callie, who was just feet away from Eliza and Brandon. Callie, who was currently watching the boy she'd loved be married to a girl she pretty much considered to be a random stranger. Suddenly, all thoughts were of Callie. What was Callie thinking? Was she disappointed in him? Was she jealous? Surely not. Callie didn't get jealous...did she? Brandon couldn't concentrate, he could think of nothing except Callie. He had to physically force it upon himself to keep his eyes trained on Eliza and not let them stray to that of Callie. Eliza had already caught him staring at Callie once, he couldn't afford to mess up is own wedding. He couldn't afford to mess up the best thing that ever happened to him. And wasn't she that? Wasn't Eliza the best thing that was ever going to happen to him? Wasn't that what a bride was supposed to be? Wasn't a wedding supposed to be the best day of your life?

Looking at Eliza became suddenly overwhelming and Brandon tore his eyes from her for just a second, looking to his moms for a brief moment of reality. To remind himself why he was there and what he was about to do. As long as he didn't look at Callie he was okay. He couldn't look at Callie. Anyone but Callie. Lena was speaking then, and he allowed Lena's voice to wash over him, and to distract him from any thoughts he shouldn't have been having. He allowed Lena to comfort the anxiety that had taken aloud of him. It was beautiful, really, how far his and Lena's relationship had come. From shoving a photo-album in her face and insisting Stef looked happier with Mike, to considering her his mother, considering her someone he couldn't imagine ever not being in his life.

"...Stef and I truly believe this marriage could not be a more perfect match, after all, what's that saying?" Lena was asking the crowd, "The one that says that you marry your best-friend."

All it took was those two words. All it took was those two words for Brandon's entire serenity to come crashing down. For all the comfort he'd felt just moments before to evaporate, and to be replaced with the sudden urge to be sick.

Two words.

Best-friend.

The common belief that the person you marry is your best-friend, or should be, and if they aren't then you might be making a mistake. The assumption that you should feel absolutely, one-hundred percent certain you want to marry the person beside you at the alter. The assumption that you do feel one-hundred percent certain with the person you're marrying. That at that point there should be no doubts. That the time for doubts had long since passed. The idea that if would want to keep someone forever, you marry them. Til death do us part, right?

Brandon's head was spinning and the roar of the nearby waves was pounding in his ears. It was much too loud. He'd wanted a stream, not the whole ocean. He'd wanted some quiet, peaceful. He hadn't wanted the kind of tumultuous presence an ocean brought with it. He'd wanted a stream. A stream that promised beginnings, promised hope. A stream that would one day join with and form into an ocean, but wasn't already made up to be something it wasn't. Brandon felt his knees grow weak, and suddenly his vision blurred. Am I passing out? He wondered.

He felt the tears before he registered they were there and that it was tears obstructing his vision. He was crying. No, sobbing. Breaking down. But why? Why would he be crying at his own wedding? I mean, perhaps the occasional tears of joy were shared, but never anything even close to what he was experiencing. Then, suddenly, just as Brandon was registering his tears, he also registered that someone was speaking.

"No, no, no, no, no," startled by the sudden sound Brandon found himself backing away from Eliza. Who was talking? It took just seconds before Brandon realized it was him: he was the one speaking. I'm losing it. I must've caught some kind of sickness on this island? Am I dying? Brandon felt his breathing quicken and his words came to a sudden stop as his ability to speak ceased. Instead, being replaced with rapid, heavy, breathing. His vision was still patchy, but the roaring in his ears had subsided. Despite this, they did not seem to be working properly. He could hear the concerned voices of Stef and Lena, he could hear the confused murmurings of the gathered guests, and he could hear the purposefully loud 'whispers' from Eliza's parents-"is he losing it? what's going on?" "now this is exactly why I wanted him to sign that prenup!" Brandon could even make-out Eliza's own questions-"Brandon? Are you okay? What's happening? Brandon!" However, all the voices sounded far away, and they were mixing together in a way that pounded into Brandon's eardrums even more so than the waves had.

A part of Brandon wanted to press his hands to his ears and make the voices disappear, but he didn't want to come off as some kind of lunatic. He figured he'd already looked plenty like an idiot with his rapid breathing and repeated chants of "no, no, no." He just didn't know what was happening to him. He'd never felt anything like it before. If it was some kind of flu, it seemed pretty scary and what rotten timing to have caught it! On his wedding day of all days! Imagine what an awful story it would make. Him dying from some kind of exotic flu at the alter.

The thought seemed to have a drastic effect on Brandon's being and he found his vision to be clouding even more so. Just as he was considering sitting down or screaming for someone to call 911, Brandon felt someone grip his arm. Hard. To the point where it hurt. He was momentarily distracted from the voices, the tears and the blurring vision as a rush of pain coursed through him. Why did someone holding his arm hurt so bad? Why had the waves sounded so loud? The voices so far away?

"Brandon," this voice didn't sound small.

In fact, it sounded louder than ocean had.

But it felt like a stream.

Brandon's vision somewhat cleared and he blinked a few times as the owner of the beautiful voice came into view. But he hadn't needed to see the person to know who it had been.

He'd recognize Callie's voice anywhere.

But what was she doing at the alter? Why had she grabbed his arm? Surely Eliza-his fiance-would've reached him first? Or his moms? Or even his best-man, and father, Mike? Perhaps they didn't know what was going on. But why would Callie? "Brandon, listen to me," Callie's voice was firm. Even more firm than her grip had been.

Brandon felt his gaze snap up to meet Callie's. Green-grey met dark-brown. Have I ever told her, her eyes are beautiful? Brandon wondered, before quickly correcting himself. No of course I haven't. She's my sister. Sister. The word felt dry, cold, useless in Brandon's mind. Just as it did when he spoke it aloud. Just as it did when he had to introduce Callie to a stranger and say "this is my sister," or when he had to correct someone who had mistaken them for boyfriend and girlfriend, "no that's my sister," painful chuckle. As far as he was concerned Callie would never be his sister. She was his best-friend. His life-line. His soulmate. And so much more.

She was his person.

Brandon's breathing hitched as thoughts of Callie mixed with thoughts of Eliza and he lowered himself to the ground in an attempt to prevent himself from fainting. He felt light headed. He felt dizzy. He felt sick. Surely, he'd caught some kind of flu. He couldn't possibly be sitting down at the alter? Could he? He planted his hand on the ground and sure enough, felt the sand underneath his fingers. What is going on? He was desperate for an answer, and yet, due to his uncontrollable breathing, was unable to ask for one. Lucky for him Callie had always been one to know what was on Brandon's mind before he spoke, and this time was no exception.

"Brandon, you're having a panic attack," her voice washed over him and just the simple definition of what was happening to him-and that it wasn't some tropical disease-caused Brandon a great sense of calm.

Of clarity.

The roaring completely subsided and the concerned voices of his family faded to nothingness. The presence of the fifty or so gathered people, including his bride, seemed to both come back to Brandon, but also be pushed from his mind. At that instant all that mattered to him was one person. One brown-eyed girl who he'd loved since he was sixteen. At that moment Callie was the only person who mattered and the only other person, besides himself, in the world.

"A panic attack," Brandon repeated, his voice hoarse. "This is what a panic attack feels like?" He suddenly knew why no one else, not even Eliza, had reached out to steady him. They didn't understand panic attacks like Callie did. Well, Stef might've, but she didn't understand Brandon. At least, not like Callie did.

"Sometimes," Callie confirmed. Brandon was still aware of her hand on his arm. He didn't want her to let go. He felt her hand twitch and found himself reaching out to grab it. To hold it. To make sure she didn't let go. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Callie's lips twitch upwards. A smile. Did I ever tell her, her smile was beautiful? Did I appreciate it enough while we were together? Surely not. I've seen her cry more times than I've seen her smile. Brandon's heart twisted.

"...this seems like a pretty bad one, but It'll be okay. Okay? Just focus on my voice." Brandon caught the tail end of Callie's words. He could do nothing but nod in response. "Take some deep breaths, okay?" Brandon's brain felt fuzzy and Callie's words sounded vaguely familiar? Where had he heard those words before? "Take some deep breaths," Callie repeated and it was then that it hit him. He'd said those very same words to her when she'd been on the verge of a panic attack after Robert had said he couldn't sign the abandonment papers again.

And then they'd kissed.

Out of habit Brandon's gaze went to Callie's lips, only to quickly flint away, just like they had countless times before.

"I can't-" He tried to speak, but refrained from doing so as his entire body heaved in response.

"Let's go back Brandon, okay?" Callie held his hand tightly in her own. "Let's go back." Brandon squinted up at her, yet again confused by her words. Go back? What did she mean? He opened his mouth to ask, but again nothing but a choked sob came out.

They sat there in silence.

Brandon gripping Callie's hands.

Brandon breathing heavily.

Brandon trying his best to mimic Callie's breathing. "In and out. In and out."

Brandon trying his best to relax. To calm his nerves. To find his balance. Find his place.

They sat there.

Brandon and Callie.

Side by side.

For many the minutes.

Until.

"Should we call an ambulance?" Eliza's voice cut through the clarity, but not in the same way Callie's had. It didn't lessen Brandon's panic, it heightened it. He found his vision blurring again, only to realize it was because he was shaking his head, and not because he was crying. He was shaking his head and repeating "no, no, no, no" again, just like earlier. He was probably doing the opposite of convincing the gathered guests an ambulance would not be necessary.

Brandon let go of Callie's hand.

Brandon felt the world crumple around him.

Brandon somehow managed to pull himself to his feet. To stand.

Brandon was aware that Callie was still beside him. That Callie was standing across from him at an alter, staring at him. He was aware that her eyes showed nothing but concern, that she was trying to take care of him. He stumbled slightly and watched her arms reach out to steady him without a moments hesitation. He couldn't imagine how ridiculous the entire scene looked, and yet, in that moment he didn't care. Besides, the guests, at least most of them, would never assume anything romantic had gone on between Callie and him. They'd all assume she was simply being a great sister in her brother's time of need.

Eliza, however, knew.

Brandon pushed that thought from his mind as well.

"I'm alright," he managed finally, rather weakly if he was being honest. "I'm alright," he repeated, stronger this time. "Just nervous, that's all." He managed a faint chuckle and felt relieved as he heard the guests chuckle behind him, a kind of chorus of sorts. "Lets go," he glanced over at Callie who had taken her spot beside Mariana once again. "Let's go back." He took his spot beside Eliza, smiled at her and tried his best to ignore the expression upon her face. The one he couldn't read, couldn't decipher. The one that didn't look at all like the one she'd had before his attack.

Lena and Stef began the ceremony again, pretty much oblivious to the fact Brandon had just had a panic attack at the alter. However, their behavior didn't surprise Brandon in the least. Stef and Lena were known for pretending not to see anything they didn't want. For convincing others and themselves of one thing even when they knew the opposite to be true. Just as they had ignored Brandon and Callie's feelings for each other seven-years ago. Never even discussing the fact that the two had had sex. Never even giving the teenagers a chance to explain themselves, or a shot at choosing each other instead of the family. Never giving them the opportunity to know it's okay to pick yourself sometimes, and not other people. No, they'd just remained quiet. Pushed it aside and silently commanded Brandon and Callie to do the same. Brandon couldn't help but still resent his moms for that, as silly as it sounded. In a way, they'd prevented a window from opening; they'd forced a door to close. They were the cause of 'what if,' and all his harbored feelings for Callie.

Callie.

Brandon felt his gaze drifting to that of the only girl who'd ever saved both herself, and him at the same time. He once again momentarily forgot he was standing at the alter, and had told himself, just minutes earlier, not to stray his attention from that of his bride.

His eyes met Callie's and it was as if the fuse that had been lit ever since Eliza had found out about 'Brandon and Callie' finally exploded.

"Stop!" Brandon's attention snapped to that of Eliza and for a moment he was confused at which of them had spoken. Had he caused the outburst? Had he stopped the wedding? Or was it...

His eyes found Eliza.

"Stop," sure enough the red-head was the one speaking. Her expression no longer unreadable, just sad.

Heartbroken.

Brandon's heart twisted. He was tired of breaking hearts.

"Eliza?" he found himself whispering. A barely audible plea for her to let the ceremony commence. A barely audible plea for her to just let the whole thing go, because he knew what she was going to say. It was the same thing every other girlfriend-except Grace-had said to Brandon at some point in their relationship. It was, what had been the cause of too many of Brandon's failed relationships to count.

It was Callie.

"No, Brandon. Don't. Don't say anything," Eliza's tone was fierce.

Needless to say Brandon didn't say anything.

"Brandon, I love you," Eliza began.

"Aren't we getting a bit ahead of ourselves?" Stef chuckled and added, "The vows are still a good half-hour away, Eliza. Lena and I weren't done with our-"

Eliza didn't seem to hear her. It was still as if she and Brandon were the only two people on the planet. And, in that moment, Brandon felt the same way. In that moment Callie faded from the picture, but not really, because she was the topic of conversation. She was the reason for Eliza's words.

She was everything.

"Brandon, I love you. You know I love you. God, I love you so much," Eliza repeated. "But, I can't marry you."

Dead silence.

You could've heard a pin drop.

Brandon didn't dare look at Stef or Lena. He didn't dare look at Mariana, or Jesus, or Jude, or Mike, or Eliza's parents.

He didn't dare look at Callie.

He looked at Eliza.

And Eliza alone.

"Eliza-" he started again.

Suddenly, impulsively, Eliza reached out and grabbed Brandon's shirt, holding it in both her hands. Tears had sprung to her eyes, ones she didn't bother wiping away. After a seconds hesitation Brandon reached down and did it for her. She smiled softly, and rested her head against his hands. Ironically, in that moment, Brandon thought she'd never looked more beautiful. Never looked more heartbroken. And yet, never looked more certain.

"I can't marry you, because I have to look after myself," Eliza said, "I can't allow myself to marry someone who loves someone else. Even if those two people can never be together. I can't stand in the way of that. I can't be second best to someone my entire life. I shouldn't have to be. I don't deserve to be," Eliza's electric blue eyes held Brandon's own. He found himself nodding.

"You don't deserve that," he agreed, and then, "You deserve to be happy." And he meant it, he meant it just as much as when he'd said it to Callie all those years ago. Perhaps even more so. Eliza deserved the entire universe. "You deserve someone who can love you and take care of you and treat you like the amazing, beautiful and intelligent person that you are," Brandon continued. "And I can't do that."

A sad smile.

"No you can't." Eliza agreed.

A sudden sob shook Brandon and he felt the panic seize him again. "I'm sorry!" He cried out, and as silly as it was he crumpled into her arms. In the moment when he should be comforting her, or denying what she was accusing him of, or allowing her to scream and yell profanities at him, as she had every right to. Instead of doing any of those things she was holding him. Holding him like she'd never let go. Like she never had any intent to let go.

She was taking care of him.

"It's okay, Brandon," Eliza murmured after what felt like eons. "You know why it's okay?" Brandon pulled away from her and shook his head, she looked up at him. "Because you deserve to be happy just as much as I do. Can't you see that? You deserve to be happy too, and I want that for you. I want you to be happy."

"I never intended to hurt you," Brandon whispered, his hand trailing a circle on her cheek. "Honest, I didn't mean for this to happen."

"I know," Eliza nodded. "I know that now. As weird as it may seem, since I was so angry about it just last night. Standing here, having this all be real. I can see it now. We were rushing into things. Both wanting this, wanting marriage, for our own selfish, personal reasons. We weren't thinking of each other. We weren't thinking of us. We weren't thinking of a future, only a past, or perhaps a present. A now. Never a then."

Another embrace.

Still silence.

Still Brandon didn't dare look at anyone else.

He didn't dare look at anyone else until Eliza had given his hand one last squeeze and was retreating back down the aisle. He didn't dare look at anyone else until her figure disappeared from view, along with that of her parents and brothers. He didn't dare look at anyone until the only people left at the alter were himself, his moms, his dad, his brothers, his sister...and Callie.

And when he finally did dare to look at anyone else, he didn't dare look at anyone except Callie.

Green-grey on brilliant brown.

He could tell she'd been crying. He could still see the tears in her eyes. He could feel his own tears beginning to dry against his cheek. Unlike Callie's they were no longer falling.

Why?

Because it wasn't a sad moment. It wasn't something to be teary over. Eliza had not just destroyed his life, or ripped him of all meaning. She had not left him crushed and alone at the altar. No, she had done none of those things. Rather, she had done the one thing Brandon had been waiting all his life for. She had done the one thing his moms had never done. The one thing his moms would never do.

She had given him a window.

Brandon heard Stef and Lena's voices begin to break the silence and join together with the sound of the waves greeting the shorline, which had now faded to that of something dull, something manageable. He heard Lena calmly ask, "Brandon, what did Eliza mean?" He heard Stef not so calmly ask, "Brandon what the hell just happened?" Yes, he heard them, but he chose not to respond. Instead, he continued to look at nothing except Callie.

And then, slowly Brandon took one step.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Until Callie was just mere inches from him. He figured that recognition would be flooding the faces of Stef and Lena and Mike and Jesus and Mariana and Jude at that moment. He figured that they finally understood what Eliza had meant. He figured they finally realized that "they can't help how they feel." He figured they finally realised their past efforts, both big and small, had been useless and no matter what, in the end, Brandon was going to find his way back to Callie, and vise versa. They were going to find their way back to each other.

At least, that was Brandon's intent in that moment. He wasn't completely sure of Callie's feelings, but he knew she hadn't been happy with his nuptials and he could only assume it wasn't because she was playing a "protective big sister."

"Brandon-" Stef's familiar warning tone didn't phase Brandon one bit. Not like it would have as a teenager. Moreover, if he weren't so enthrolled by the sheer existance of Callie, and the fact that both his hands were now resting upon her face, he might've turned around and given his mother a piece of his mind.

But there was plenty of time for that later.

No, Callie was his focus right then. And nothing would stop Brandon from speaking his mind and saying what needed to be said. Saying the words he'd let go unsaid time and time again.

"Callie," Brandon began. Her name hung in the air, it was almost as beautiful as it's owner. Almost.

"Brandon," Callie echoed. Brandon thought his name might be just as beautiful, that is, when it was spoken by the girl he loved. Despite his captivation, Brandon did notice Callie's tone was, similarly to Stef's, that of warning. It was a silent reminder that they were brother and sister now, and legally whatever he was about to say, or do was almost definitly going to violate that fact. Yet, as much as it was a warning, it was also a plea. A beg for Brandon to say what he needed to say and what Callie wanted so desperately to hear.

"Callie, I've been in love with you since I was sixteen-years-old-" Brandon continued. It felt easy saying these things, it felt natural, it felt...good.

"We can't-" Callie tried, shaking her head furiously.

Brandon ducked his head slightly so he was level with Callie's eyes, "Tell me you don't want me. Tell me what we feel happens more than once in a lifetime. Tell me something to make me believe that this pain is going to go away. Tell me that we'll never not feel like this."

"I can't,"

"You know why Romeo and Juliet didn't get a happy ending? Because they were childish. They made dumb, reckless, impulsive decisions and they weren't honest with their families. We don't have to be like them. We don't have to be a tragedy, or an unhappy ending, or an unfinished chapter. We deserve the happy ending they never got. I'm tired of being unhappy. I can't be without you. Everything, everyone, it all comes back to you. I know what I deserve now. What we deserve." Pause. Deep breath. Smile. "Godammit Cal, I choose you. I will never stop choosing you. Again and again. Without a doubt. I will always, honestly, truly, completely chose you. Ever since you came into my life you've answered the question I've asked myself for so long." Another pause. "Who?"

"I feel like I've spent my whole life either loving you, or pretending I don't," Callie whispered.

"I feel like I know what I deserve now." Brandon murmured, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Do you?" Callie teased, her head tilting to one side. "Cause you do. You deserve to be happy. You're amazing, and kind, and smart, and beautiful. And you deserve to have-"

"Oh shut up," Brandon said.

And then he was kissing her.

And she was kissing him.

And it was as if they were sixteen again.

It was as if everything was exactly the same. Exactly how they'd left it.

And yet, Brandon smiled against Callie's lips at the thought, it wasn't.

Everything was not the same.

Everything was better.

When they pulled apart Callie rested her head against Brandon's forehead. Her gaze fixed firmly on him, and him alone. Her eyes didn't stray to take in the gathered family members. She looked at only him. She breathed in only him. The both of them relished in the moment. In the moment they'd convinced themselves would never happen again, could never happen again. Of course they both knew in just seconds they would have to face the family. Face Eliza. Face the entire world. But they also both knew they had each other, and they'd be just fine.

"You okay?" Brandon asked, placing a kiss to her forehead.

"I got you, don't I?" Callie whispered and Brandon could feel her smile as she rose up, like the tide, to kiss him again.

Yes, they'd be just fine.

In fact, more than fine.

They'd be absolutely brilliant.