I do not own Bates Motel.
But, in some ways, I do own a Dylan. And I love him so much.
Yeah, Whatever
Battle Scars Part 2
A week had passed since Emma's staple removal/giggle explosion incident.
The holes had needed to close before she could remove the bandage.
In the shower.
Carefully.
And reveal.
Later. Not in the shower.
The thin red line.
Which she now was showing to Dylan as they sat on her bed.
Much the same as they had before when she had decided to be truthful with him . . .
". . . didn't really hurt. I was just embarrassed that I had one."
. . . as he had been truthful to his interviewer . . .
"Marijuana Distribution Manager."
. . . because that was the man he was becoming.
". . . thrown you out of the office at that point."
And he had adamantly wanted the job.
So he could provide for Emma.
Honestly. And with integrity.
". . . relationship with my daughter. That's not her future."
Because . . .
"And to be honest, you're too good for that."
. . . they both had futures now.
The future she was now facing.
"So what do you think?"
Scars and all.
Dylan looked openly.
Because it was what he was supposed to do.
Considered.
Because it was what he chose to do.
And spoke.
"I think it looks more comfortable than metal sticking out of you."
She grinned.
"It is."
And then he asked the only question that really mattered to him.
"How does it feel?"
Which seemed to make her happy.
"Better."
Then Emma did something he had not expected.
Yet.
She removed her blouse entirely.
"Emma, wait."
Unbuttoning it.
"Shh."
While he sat in mild surprise.
Rising desire.
And heightened self-conscious restraint.
As his nether regions . . .
Boobs on the horizon.
Countdown in three . . . two . . .
. . . tried to override his thinking brain.
"Emma, you don't have to do this."
She smiled easily. Tilted her head at him in a coy manner, cheeks pink.
"I want to. You don't want to?"
"Uh, no, yeah, I do, I just, it hasn't been four to six-"
She interrupted him, shaking her head a little in dismissive amusement.
"Oh, I know. We're not doing that. Not yet."
She said 'yet'.
Hee.
"Um, okay."
And his girlfriend sat partially disrobed in front of her now speechless boyfriend.
Whoa.
His face must have revealed his thought because she blushed only a little brighter.
And then with typical Emma flair, spoke.
"So what do you think?"
Dylan's hungry eyes traveled up from her bare chest up to her collarbone.
Delicate shoulders.
The line of her neck.
The curve of her jaw.
The simple, unaffected beauty of her open face.
"I think you're beautiful, Emma."
She smiled, ducked her head prettily.
Then back up.
And taking a deep breath, reached down without breaking eye contact.
Bringing his hands up to where she wanted them.
"Emma."
Right above her upper waist.
Right on the scar.
He tried not to flinch.
He didn't want to hurt her.
Only held his hands carefully turned out, roughened palms to smooth, warm skin.
Thumbs lightly grazing that thin, red line as she held her perfect-to-Dylan breasts up out of the way.
And he tried to think.
She wanted this.
Because it helped her face her cut-up skin.
Accept it.
Move on with her life.
Enjoy being her.
So he sat.
And asked the only clear question he could muster.
"Does it hurt for me to touch it?"
She shook her head, grin lopsided on her mouth as if she were amused.
"I can barely feel it. The nerves there were severed and still healing so it's kind of like a dead zone. I may get more feeling back in time. The doctors say it's normal."
Okay, I'm not hurting her.
Then her eyes darkened, gaze deepened.
"But I can feel this."
And she shifted his hands up.
"Emma."
"Shh."
She kissed him then.
And he stopped talking.
Ahem, I think we'll just leave them there.
Hopefully this is not so much an iced tea chapter and more of an acceptance chapter.
That's what it's meant to be anyway.
I hope you'll let me know.
Thanks for reading and reviewing, Lana Brown and WordWeaver81! I appreciate you so much!