I do not own Bates Motel.
But, in some ways, I do own a Dylan. And I love him so much.
Yeah, Whatever
Dry Drowning
Emma was late.
So late he was beginning to worry she had gone straight from taking care of her mom's remains back to Seattle without bothering to tell him.
Except her suitcase was still in the room.
Still packed with her clothes that smelled like her.
Her toiletries.
And her all-important immunosuppressants.
So she hadn't left.
And Dylan worried.
She might have gotten somehow lost or in trouble.
Put too much stress in her lungs and had some sort of medical emergency all alone.
He tried to rest, just lay there because he could bear anymore of the world at that point.
Thinking about Emma and Katie.
Norma and Norman.
Crying off and on, silently because he wasn't supposed to cry out loud.
Eventually hearing the key turn in the lock, Emma opening the door . . .
You're okay, you're alright, of course you are.
Speaking calmly to her because she was probably burned out too at this point.
"Hey, I was worried."
I was worried you had left me.
But she hadn't, not yet.
But she had been taking care of her mom and probably wouldn't appreciate . . .
"Don't pressure me. For anything."
. . . being interrogated about her whereabouts since.
Felt like light weight as she sat on the bed to take off her coat and her boots.
Unwrap her scarf.
And climb into bed fully clothed next to him.
Dylan automatically turned to their most familiar, his favorite, position.
Him on his back, Emma tucked into his side, her head on his shoulder.
Delicate fingers absently playing with his shirt.
His arm around her.
Hand absently caressing her shoulder.
Chin atop her head.
This was where they were supposed to be.
But . . .
"I'm going home tomrrow. I want to be with Katie."
. . . apparently not for long.
"I understand."
I wouldn't want to be here either.
"I went to the hearing today."
It was so bad, Emma. He doesn't feel any remorse.
He has a chance at mercy and he doesn't deserve it.
Of course, neither do I, I guess.
"I understand."
Her voice was quiet, tone even.
She wasn't mad, not anymore.
Which was somehow, worse.
He stared at the ceiling.
The silence and darkness wrapping its long, sneaky tendrils around them.
Trying to pull them apart even as they clung together.
Dylan tried to remember the last two years of happiness, of freedom.
Of relative . . .
"Dylan, Dylan, can you grab the . . . the, uh . . ."
"Mute button?"
"I was going to say 'pacifier', but yes."
. . . peace.
He couldn't.
It seemed like a dream, a wishful, delusional dream into which he had desperately plunged himself.
Like Norman.
No, I'm not crazy.
I've had - I do have - a family that loves me..
Only . . .
"Emma?"
. . . with the events of the past several days coming to a head . . .
"I don't know. I don't know, Dylan. Let's not talk right now."
. . . he was deathly afraid . . .
I'm afraid you're going to leave me.
. . . he was losing them.
He didn't sleep much that night.
He lay there, staring up at the popcorned ceiling.
And thought.
He thought about Norma and Norman and all the mistakes he had made.
He thought about what he could have done differently to make things better now.
And he couldn't come up with anything plausible.
He had made his own mistakes, there was no denying that.
But they were free-thinking (well, Norma was) individuals and they had made choices without him.
And he couldn't Jedi mind trick them into doing what he thought they should do.
He had tried.
And failed.
And instead of working with Romero to commit Norman back into Pineview, he had run away.
Shit.
Dylan Massett lay there with his wife in his arms.
That wife that was, and always had been, such a rock to him.
So strong and caring and loving.
That wife that might be gone in the morning.
Emma, Emma, please don't leave me. You're all I have. You're all I want.
You and Katie.
Please don't go.
And Dylan Massett was very, very afraid.
He lay there with those dark, tangled thoughts worrying themselves up in his head.
He must've slept at some point, off and on.
Because his dark dreams were lonely and mournful.
And when he woke up and rolled over, his wife was leaving him.
"You leaving now?"
He made it a calm, casual question.
A question to which he already knew the eminent answer.
"Yeah, I'm going home where it's normal."
The long term answer still lay cloaked in unknown dread.
He stood up, walking around the bed, unconsciously fixing his shirt.
And standing facing . . .
Emma . . .
. . . his wife.
The gulf between them was so huge and expansive, he could barely see her standing there on the other side.
Even thought it was only a few feet in reality.
Emma, I love you.
I love you and I'm not going to beg you this time.
Their literal distance lessen when he took the initiative and moved forward.
Trying to hug her, hands going around her stuff shoulders.
Bearded cheek slightly brushing the side of her sweet smelling hair.
Her arms went around him too.
In one of the emptiest hugs of his entire life.
"Don't pressure me. For anything."
"I understand."
Then, Emma, beautiful, intelligent, brave, loving Emma left.
Then she moved abruptly.
Her kiss on his cheek was a quick, heartless thing.
That made him feel more lost and alone than ever.
Because it was not Emma.
Not his Emma.
It was a stranger embrace.
"Bye."
Who left without saying . . .
I'll call you when I get there.
Please come home when you can.
I love you, Dylan.
. . . the words he wanted to hear most.
Like anyone starving to death their whole life, he had always eaten up her warm, welcome attention and care and love
And now she had removed that from him. And he was famished for it.
Weakened.
Afraid.
And alone.
Bye.
Okay, guys, I love Emma most of the time. I really do.
And Dylan made some agregious mistakes, no doubt.
But she just left him. No lifeline, no hope except what he could scrounge up for himself.
Dylan would NEVER have done to to her.
He would have DIED for her without question.
At this point, she is not worthy of Dylan's love and devotion.
Because she ABANDONED him.
Okay, I'm still mad but I'll stop my useless ranting.