I do not own Bates Motel.

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

Yeah, Whatever

Lioness

"Good morning, Emma."

"Good morning, Doctor Williams."

Dylan could practically feel the waves of tension radiating out from Emma's pores.

Sometimes he went with her to her respiratory appointments.

Sometimes her dad did.

Sometimes she went alone.

But this time . . .

"I want to you to come with me, Dylan. Can you take off from work?"

And because it was Emma, he of course . . .

"Yeah, sure. Are you okay?"

Her dark eyes were worried and anxious as she restlessly fiddled with the collar of her soft pink blouse.

"I'm just nervous about what they're going to say about . . . you know . . ."

Dylan wrapped his arms around her.

"Yeah, me too. But it will be okay. We'll get through it together, okay?"

She smiled, somewhat half heartedly.

"Okay."

. . . took a personal day and went.

Dylan was there, Seattle traffic navigator.

Quiet support.

The shoulder to cry on if needed.

And now, in the specialist's office, surrounded by thick tomed medical books on shelves and plaques proving how knowledgeable and experienced he was in his field . . .

"Your test results all look good, Emma. Exceptional, in fact."

She nodded almost dismissively, quite used to receiving good reports on her transplanted lungs.

"Okay, great."

Dylan almost breathed a sigh of relief.

"Which is why your new development is of significant concern."

Shit, he's not calling it a baby.

Emma drew a deep, healthy, strong breath.

"Okay."

The doctor frowned at her over the top of his glasses.

"Emma, you have experienced fantastic success with your transplant. You have had next to no complications and you have recovered quicker than any patient I have ever treated."

Emma ventured a wary smile.

"Okay."

Dylan felt the anxious nerves in his neck starting to twist and knot.

"It would be a travesty to undue all of your hard work with prolonged unnecessary stress on your body. Especially considering the relative recentness of your transplant."

The doctor's solemn expression made Dylan's stomach churn sickeningly.

"I strongly advise you to consider terminating this pregnancy for your own safety."

Heartbroken, Dylan glanced over at his wife, the sun in his entire universe.

It would kill her to do that.

And saw a vein pulsing at the side of her neck.

Her jaw was clenched and working.

"Emma," he murmured, concerned.

She jerked and her face flared.

Her mouth opened and closed.

Hand nearest him twitched.

Dylan's heart started hammering, worried she was having a stroke or something.

"Emma?"

Then, she simply exploded.

Like a volcano of impending motherhood.

"Doctor, I never thought I would live long enough to have a baby. I never thought I would be able to have any sort of real life after a certain point at all! We didn't try to get pregnant, we took precautions every time."

Her voice was beginning to rise and her every muscle seemed rigid and strained.

"But it's here, in me, right now. It's alive, right now, and I'm not going to kill it just because something might happen! This is my baby, okay?! I want it! I respect your intention and what you're trying to tell me, but you can either help me and tell me how to get it here and keep both of us alive and well or you can go to hell and I'll find another doctor who will help me!"

She was on her feet now, all five foot five, one hundred ten pounds of her ready to tear apart the entire world for her unborn child.

Chest heaving with emotion, tears standing in her furious eyes.

The doctor, having not moved or reacted during her entire tirade, inspected her over calmly, hands folded in front of him on the desk.

Then shifted his attention momentarily to Dylan.

"Is that how you feel as well, Dylan?"

He didn't even hesitate, only spoke through suddenly dry lips.

"I want what's best for Emma. She wants the baby. So do I. Will you please help us?"

The doctor looked back and forth between them and Dylan realized he was gripping the arm of the chair so hard his fingers hurt.

"With the right precautions and treatments, transplant patients have been known to retain their quality of life and wellbeing while giving birth to healthy babies."

He paused.

"They have also been known to suffer severe, life-threatening complications. Even death."

Emma blanched, face drawn thin.

But her voice was steel.

"I don't care."

Dylan flinched.

The doctor ignored him. Solidly focused on his patient.

"The baby could also suffer from immunosuppressant toxicity, low birth weight. You might not even be able to bring it to term which would bring about an entirely different set of medical issues, perhaps for a lifetime."

Emma never blinked.

"I would rather try than just kill it. Just tell me what to do."

The doctor nodded.

"Alright. Then we will do our best."

Emma visibly relaxed, sinking back into the chair as the adrenaline and defiance drained out of her system.

Dylan reached toward her, threading comforting fingers through her trembling ones.

The doctor observed them dryly over the rim of his glasses.

"I will say, if this all works out, this baby will be very lucky to have parents that want it so much."

Dylan forced himself to look away from his wife and to the specialist.

"We do. Thank you, doctor."

My mother's doctor suggested she abort me for serious medical reasons. Like her and mine potential death. She cussed him out too.

I also understand the doctor could have been a woman but I can't for the life of me write a scene where a woman would tell another woman to kill her baby. Maybe I'm small minded.

And I'm basing Emma's pregnancy and delivery and all medical information on the information I've found in my research because I want to give credit and respect to these warrior women.

Just so you know. :)

Thanks to WordWeaver81 and Lana Brown for reviewing! You're wonderful!