I do not own Bates Motel.
But, in some ways, I do own a Dylan. And I love him so much.
Yeah, Whatever
The Freakin' Warrior Part 2
Ping.
Ping.
Emma was finally getting her staples out.
Ping.
After nearly three weeks.
Ping.
Over fifty pieces of narrow steel.
Ping.
Being first crimped, then pulled out of her tender flesh.
Ping.
With medical tweezers.
Ping.
One by one.
Ping.
And dropped into . . .
Ping.
. . . the waiting metal bowl.
Ping.
She lay outstretched on the examination table.
Arms spreadeagle on either side of her.
One hand working a soft sponge . . .
". . . in case you feel the need to move or focus on something else other than the procedure."
"Does it hurt?"
"Some patients feel discomfort at the tugging sensation. Others feel a general sense of malaise at the thought of the procedure. Some are unbothered at all."
"Can Dylan stay?"
"Yes. But he must wear a face mask to lower risk of infection."
"Dylan, will you stay?"
It wasn't even a thought.
"Yeah, sure. Of course."
So here they were.
The face-masked nurse methodically removing . . .
Ping.
. . . staples from Emma cut, stretched, glued, sewn, stapled torso.
Ping.
And Dylan holding her right hand.
Rubbing her soft fingers reassuringly with his own calloused ones.
Their masks covered their noses and mouths.
So only Emma's warm, dark eyes hinted at her state of mind, current physical reactions.
At first she looked nervous.
Ping.
And Dylan tried to pour calm into her.
Ping.
Like she did him when he needed it.
Ping.
Locking gazes.
Ping.
Smiling with his eyes.
Ping.
Holding her safe with his hand.
Ping.
And he thought they were going to make it through this.
Ping.
The nurse paused every few staples to allow a second nurse to first wipe droplets of blood away from Emma's punctured skin and apply an antiseptic/healing agent to the holes.
Adhering a long, continuous strip of protective bandaging to the site.
Any and every precaution against infection had to be taken to combat the effects of her daily immunosuppressants.
Ping.
The medical professionals worked quickly and efficiently as possible.
Ping.
And Dylan . . .
Ping.
. . . just held on to Emma's hand.
She lay still enough.
Breathing evenly.
Keeping her eyes on his.
Ping.
Until he noticed little changes.
Ping.
Little ticks.
Ping.
Cracks in her facade.
Ping.
Her breathing deepening.
Ping.
Coming in bigger and bigger gulps.
Ping.
Yet still even.
Ping.
As if she were struggling to control it.
Ping.
Her right hand tightening on his until it was almost painful.
Ping.
Her left working the sponge with more and more intensity.
Ping.
The set of her eyes changed too.
Ping.
Hardening.
Ping.
As if she were concentrating on maintaining control of herself.
Ping.
And he just knew it was hurting her.
Ping.
Making her sick.
Ping.
Or that she was freaking out.
Ping.
Emma was tough, tougher than anyone else he had ever known.
Ping.
But this repeated torture would get to anybody.
Ping.
Physically.
Ping.
Psychologically.
Ping.
He put both hands around her one.
Ping.
Trying to help ground her.
Ping.
Trying to hold her together.
Ping.
Until it was over.
Ping.
But he couldn't sustain her.
Ping.
Even she wasn't strong enough to stay stoic against this.
Ping.
And eventually . . .
Ping.
. . . she cracked.
Ping.
Dropping the sponge suddenly and clapping her hand over her mouth in a vain attempt to hold in her cries.
"Miss Decody?"
As she lost her battle of wills.
Will Decody popped up from his chair in the waiting room.
Face set in concern as Emma and Dylan exited the inner sanctum of the doctor's office.
Emma, still redfaced and weak, tremulously staying her feet.
"Hey, everything okay?"
She nodded, not quite meeting his eyes.
Dylan shaking his head in bemusement.
"Dylan?"
Emma buried her face in Dylan's shoulder, something she hardly ever did.
"She laughed!"
Will DeCody's entire countenance blinked in confusion.
"What?"
Emma's face grew redder than ever.
Confessing.
"I couldn't help it. It tickled!"
Dylan, a big grin spreading all over his amused face . . .
God, I love you.
. . . continued his recounting of the situation.
"The nurses had to wait for her to stop laughing to finish pulling out all the staples!"
Emma swiped at her face, attempting to compose herself as she spoke.
"They actually said it happens sometimes and they prefer it better to patients who scream and cry."
Dylan Massett, still in amused awe of the girl he loved, still couldn't help teasing her a little.
"I don't know if they liked it as much as you did."
Emma pushed playfully at his arm and he vaguely waved a surrendering hand.
"I'm just saying, it was alot of laughing."
Will Decody smiled first at his daughter then Dylan in fond bewilderment.
And Dylan felt a growing comradery among them.
A bond.
Like a . . . family.
A real family.
Like he was being accepted into their family.
It was a good feeling.
And it probably wouldn't have happened either without Emma's cystic fibrosis.
Now there's a thought.
The Proud Father of the Warrior Princess shrugged, appeared just as bemused and relieved as Dylan felt.
"Well, I'm glad it went well. Let's get out here."
Good idea, Dylan thought. We seem to be drawing a crowd.
He glanced around, observing several previously grim faces brightened by hope.
Even if temporarily.
Yeah, she has that effect on people.
And they went.
Okay, so in my research, I found out this actually happens on occasion.
And if anybody was going to have this response to having shards of metal pulled out of their skin, it would be Emma.
Don't you think?
Anyway, thanks to Lana Brown for reviewing !