I do not own Bates Motel.

But, in some ways, I do own a Dylan. And I love him so much.

Yeah, Whatever

Living Life, The Decody Way

The good thing about college was that Emma Decody could learn anything she wanted to there.

Pursue any course of study.

Fill her mind with any knowledge she so desired.

The bad thing was she, never even being able to dream about life beyond her early twenties, had no idea what that knowledge might be.

"What's anthropology?"

"You're asking me?"

But life sometimes smiles upon those who need it.

Will, a professor at the same said college, was in fact, her father.

And as his immediate family member, she could take any class she wanted, any time she wanted, for as long as she wanted.

Free of charge.

"Take all the time you want, baby girl. Enjoy it. Relish it. Soak it all up."

Emma's eyes gleamed at the prospect and she, after gifting him a peck on the cheek, practically skipped off with excitement.

Dylan grinned.

"Looks like, uh, she might take you up on that offer, Will."

The man whose daughter was no longer dying, gazed fondly after her wake.

"I can only hope so."

And took a slow, deep breath in and out.

"It's just so incredible to see her grow and flourish out from under the burden of chronic illness and eventual death."

Then smiled, eyes bright.

"Not have to fight to survive. She can really just live."

Then he moved his attention over to Dylan.

"You did that, Dylan. We wouldn't be here now without you. I would still be helplessly waiting for my daughter to slowly die."

Dylan felt a warm ache in his chest, a smile pulling the corner of his mouth.

"It's because of her. She's amazing."

Will nodded.

"She's about to get even more amazing. She's got so much life to live. There's nothing stopping her now."

And there wasn't.

Thanks to the shadily illegal efforts of her devoted boyfriend, Dylan Massett, Emma Decody had a new lease on life.

And she was living it.

"Dylan, let's go to the Pike Place Market tomorrow!"

"Okay."

"Dylan, have you heard of the Guitar Tornado at the Museum of Pop Culture?"

"Yeah, somebody at work was talking about it the other day."

"Dylan . . ."

CF free and experiencing only the mildest, infrequent bouts of immunosuppressant-induced nausea, she also seemed intent on sampling every curious culinary morsel Seattle had to offer.

". . . Bourbon and Bones has . . ."

"Welcome to Walrus and the Carpenter . . ."

". . . the Crab Pot again!"

The aforementioned medication she would take daily for the rest of her life did unfortunately reduce her appetite to the extent that she and her ready and willing consort . . .

". . . ice cream!"

. . . frequently shared a single dish . . .

". . . um, Artisan . . . Bread-zel?"

. . . making Dylan Massett glad he had a decent . . .

". . . dare tell Dad I'm drinking coffee and not tea!"

. . . working metabolism.

Once, she stopped.

A muted expression on her face.

"I just realized I'm the only one not contributing income to this family but I'm the one trying to spend it all."

Will laughed, patting her hand.

"We'll tell you when we need to start reining in the horses, Emma. Now, where are you two off to this weekend?"

And she beamed.

"Well, I was thinking about taking a trip to the Hoh Rainforest Trail at the Olympic National Park?"

Dylan shrugged, smiling.

"Sounds great. When do you want to leave?"

And he relished watching her go.

Watching her breathe.

Watching her live.

He loved it.

And he loved her.

Her dark eyes sparkled more than ever now.

Her intelligence and wit were uplifting and challenged him in the best ways.

Her body felt great, warm and inviting when he lay in bed with at night with her, drifting toward sleep that more and more often was peaceful and content and happy.

Her laugh was no longer followed up by a stifled cough or gasp of quietly desperate air.

He had loved her when she was sick and literally dying.

When she was hospitalised and frankensteined up to save her life.

And he loved her now . . .

"Dylan, come on!"

. . . even though sometimes . . .

"Hurry, Dylan!"

. . . he had a little trouble . . .

"Dylan-"

. . . keeping up with her.

But he never disparaged her the excitement and enthusiasm and joy of a life lived out of shadow of Death.

Her regularly scheduled respiratory appointments always showed her gunrunning-procured lungs to be in excellent working order.

Without a hitch or a snag.

She always felt healthy and ready and well.

Except when she didn't.

Achoo!

"Gesundheit."

"Thank you."

Achoo!

"Gesundheit."

"Thank you."

Achoo!

"Are you okay?"

Emma nodded, pocketing her third crumpled tissue.

"Yeah, I think I'm just getting a . . . cold."

Dylan inspected her casually.

Minutely.

Intensely.

From a distance.

With hawk-like vision.

"Do you need to call your doctor?"

She shrugged, sniffling a little as she did.

"No, I'm good."

And then she cleared her throat.

And coughed.

Oh shit.

And keep his his poker face supportively and calmly set.

His eyes, apparently however, . . .

"Dylan, it's okay. It's just a cold."

. . . were not.

Will entered the room at the exact inopportune moment . . .

"She coughed."

. . . and Dylan Massett immediately spilled his guts like a prison convict.

Transplanted Brit Will might have looked mildly alarmed.

"Are you alright, Emma?"

Turning to his slightly miffed daughter.

She nodded, expression unconcerned and a little amused.

"Yeah, I'm just getting a cold, that's all."

And then Will Decody . . .

"Dylan, would you please check her blood-oxygen count?"

. . . took control . . .

"Dad!"

. . . and called the doctor.

She was fine.

Achoo!

Other than having a slight cold.

Achoo!

O2 count at steady ninety-eight percent just like always.

Achoo!

Though the apartment seemed to be running low on . . .

Achoo!

. . . aloe Kleenex.

Will and Dylan, despite the doctor's reassurances . . .

"She seems fine, just watch her for aggressive symptoms. "

. . . still worried.

"Emma, sweetie, why don't you stay home from class today?"

But Emma . . .

"Why? I'm fine."

. . . determinedly shooed them away.

"Because you're sick."

Dylan tried to back Will up.

But Emma rolled her eyes, patting Dylan casually across the cheek.

"No, when I was dying of CF and couldn't breathe, then I was sick."

And then, before one or the other of them could launch another gently loving and firmly caring dissertation as to how dangerous . . .

"I mean, love you both and all but . . ."

. . . even common ailments could be . . .

". . . seriously, everytime you got colds and complained about how bad you felt . . ."

. . . she put them gently and lovingly in their respective places.

". . . this is what you were talking about?"

Will Decody and Dylan Massett stood, caught and skewered.

Figuratively, of course.

"I mean, I can breathe all day with this cold and not even blink twice!"

She's not wrong, Dylan thought vaguely. She's doesn't even have to have someone pound on her chest to breathe anymore. It's awesome. She's awesome.

Then as he was thinking all these silent thoughts, Emma went to them one at a time, starting with her father.

"Thank you for looking out for me."

Gifting sincere hugs and kisses upon their cheeks.

"But I'm fine, I really am."

Reassuring and loving them.

"And I understand better than you how serious it can get."

As she was always did.

"So I'm going to take really good care of myself always."

And Dylan and Will, brave smiles pasted upon their faces, had to believe she was telling the truth that she was okay.

"I promise."

And she was.

And she did.

See, I told you there'd be some fun stuff coming up. And more is on the way!

Let's enjoy it for a while, shall we?

Thanks to WordWeaver81 and Lana Brown for your generous reviews!