I do not own Bates Motel.
But, in some ways, I do own a Dylan. And I love him so much.
Yeah, Whatever
The Ball Drops
Emma Decody Massett was thirty four weeks pregnant.
She had managed to successfully grow and carry a healthy child nearly to term despite having two newly transplanted lungs.
A set of currently overly taxed kidneys.
And a weakened immune system, daily poisoned just enough to allow those wonderfully CF free lungs to stay functioning within her body.
The warning signs were so subtle they almost missed them.
Increased frequency of headaches, also a side effect of immunosuppressants.
Slight swelling of the hands and feet along with fatigue, a symptom of third trimester pregnancy.
And elevated blood pressure and protein in the urine.
Tested at each doctor's visit.
Alerting the specialist to her newly developing situation.
Ordering immediate rushed blood tests.
Confirming the diagnosis.
"Emma, I'm afraid you've developed pre-eclampsia."
As his beloved wife drew a sharp, CF free breath, Dylan Massett, Apocalypse Awaiter Extraordinare, felt his insides seize up.
Pre-eclampsia.
Beginning of eclampsia.
May cause seizures.
Permanent damage to essential organs, including the brain.
Death.
Shit.
I hate Google.
"Your condition so far is still mild," the doctor informed her. "Pre-eclampsia is-"
"I know what it is," Emma interrupted calmly. "What do we do now?"
The doctor nodded, pushing her glasses up on her nose.
"The baby needs as much time to develop as possible. Especially the lungs, to reduce complications. But we also have to walk a fine line between that and compromising the safety of you and your baby."
The word 'lungs', for Dylan and Emma Massett, was the catalyst to a fire that had already been burning within them provide their daughter with the best beginning they possibly could.
Dylan felt his entire body stutter, rev, and stutter again, over and over.
His throat was closing, the possibility of losing Emma and the baby constricting his chest until he could barely breathe.
He was jolted back to reality by Emma's hand clamping down upon his in a sudden vise like grip.
"Okay," Emma repeated. "What do we do?"
Their own personal Doomsday speaker's face was serious.
"In normal cases, we would probably start by sending you home for bedrest and some other adjustments to your daily routine."
She tucked her medical tablet under one arm.
"However, considering the risk level of this pregnancy, I'd like to admit you to the hospital now so we can monitor you more closely and adjust your meds and be able to respond immediately in case of an emergency."
Emergency. Oh god.
"Okay."
The doctor lifted the tablet again, beginning to tap, quick and precise.
"I'll notify them and someone will be in to get you shortly."
Emma muttered an agreement and the doctor exited the room with purpose.
Emma turned to Dylan.
"We've got to call Dad."
"Okay."
He started fumbling for his phone.
"It's going to be okay, Dylan."
He didn't look at her, couldn't smile.
He was already feeling nothing. And everything.
"I know."
"No. Dylan."
She reached up and took his face in her hands.
Forcing him to look at her.
"It's going to be okay."
He stared at her, refusing to feel.
"How do you know?"
She shook her head a little.
"This is a condition they can treat. They can do something. And I'll be right here in the hospital. I'll be safe."
Dylan nodded, working his jaw.
"I know."
Emma smiled though it seemed forced to him.
"We've come all this way. Even if something is wrong with . . . her lungs, they can help her. They can take of her."
Dylan nodded.
"I want them to take care of you too, Emma. I love you. I need you to be okay."
Emma smiled, dimples pretty.
"I'll be okay. I'm tougher than I look."
Dylan smiled wanly.
"I know."
She gave him a sweet kiss.
"I love you, Dylan."
"I love you too, Emma."
And then, holding Emma's hand, he called Will.
"You want me to what? Seriously?"
Dylan Massett realized his wife had gone completely insane.
"Go to work. I'm fine. I've got my phone to text you and they'll call if they need to."
And there was nothing in the world he could do about it.
"But . . . but . . . you're . . ."
She smiled, hands primly interlaced around her big, sheeted, pregnant belly.
Sitting crosslegged in her hospital gown in her hospital bed.
So much like when she'd had the transplant.
Except better still.
So much better.
Wristband. Finger O2 monitor.
Heart monitor. Baby monitor.
On the other hand, no draining tubes. No oxygen canula.
No incision site or staples.
No life and death.
Not yet anyway.
Oh god.
But Emma was talking. Confident. And calm.
Total Decody.
Not Bates.
So that's good.
"I need you here when we have the baby. When we get home. Right now we would just sit and stare at each other until we go crazy."
Dylan stared at her, mouth ajar in disbelief.
"You go to work and come see me in the afternoon and then sleep at home."
As Dylan's eyes goggled, Emma chuckled impishly.
"You'd better get rest now before she arrives. You're doing the night feedings!"
And Dylan Massett was dumbfounded.
"Emma-"
She sobered then and took his hand.
"Dylan, please. Do this for me. I love you. It's going to be okay."
He went further than that.
He got up even earlier every morning and went to the hospital before work too.
Trying to be light and positive like she needed.
"Hey, did you eat all the eggs yet?"
"Ugh, no."
He thought about her almost every second.
He had informed his boss of the situation.
A few coworkers knew, probably talked to others.
It was good they knew.
Because he was sure he was a useless mess at work.
What he didn't know was everyone thought that he was doing better than any of them knew they would.
And admired him for it.
Firm hand on the shoulder, encouraging smile.
"Dylan, good job on the Pine Coast Ale account. We need to talk after Emma has her baby."
"Okay."
Never any mention of anything like this in the show but I can't imagine her having no complications at all.
DinahRay might give me the stinkeye though for that statement. ;)
Thanks to WordWeaver81 and Lana Brown for your kind reviews!