A/N: MarinaBlack1 is a goddess of medical wisdom, a talented writer, and a beta genius. She's the full package, ladies and gentlemen. I am so lucky to have her.

A/N2: WHY won't this story leave me alone? It EATS at me. I can't help writing more! I have to learn some self-control here soon...

Part 3

"Emma?"

It wasn't the voice she had been hoping to hear, but she was glad to see Norman at the foot of her hospital bed anyway. She smiled and thanked him for the bouquet of artificial gerbera daisies – velvet oranges and yellows, a bright handful of sun – just as Dylan entered. He hung back, letting the friends have their space.

"I think they keep vases in that cupboard," Emma volunteered, pointing Norman in the right direction. "I saw somebody pull one out yesterday." She winked at Dylan conspiratorially, but he was staring in resentment at his brother's thoughtful gift.

"Emma, you look tired," Norman continued as he arranged the bouquet. "Are people wearing you out? Maybe we should ask them to limit her visiting hours," he suggested to Dylan.

"The hospital can make that decision."

"How? A hospital isn't a person, it's a building. Inanimate objects can't make decisions." Despite the chill between the brothers, Emma snorted at Norman's snarky response. "Besides, Emma needs more rest than most people."

"I think that's up to her doctors," Dylan assured him. "They're the experts, I'm sure they know what they're doing."

"But they don't know Emma," Norman insisted. "She always pushes the limits of what's safe. That's how she got so sick in the first place!"

Dylan paused at that, guilt darkening his eyes.

"Hey, boys?" Emma's quiet voice pulled the men's focus back to her. "I happen to think the only one who knows how I actually feel… is me. Thank you for the concern, but when I get tired, I'll tell you."

"I'm so sorry," Norman shifted to the chair at her bedside, contrition pouring from his skin. "We should know better than to argue like this while you're still recovering." He glared at Dylan. "It's only because we're worried about you. Because we care about you."

Emma swallowed and refused to look at either of her visitors. Even without the earlier warning from Dylan, this overly attentive reaction on Norman's part would have been enough to discourage any admission of her budding relationship with his older brother.

"So, uh… fewer tubes today," Dylan offered, desperate to change the subject. Emma bit back a laugh – under any other circumstances it would have been a terribly awkward transition, but at this point, she'd take it.

"Yeah, they've got me increasing my physical therapy. Apparently I'm a textbook case of a successful double transplant, so – " she broke off unexpectedly, tears robbing her of her voice, surprising her with their force.

Norman jumped up from the chair in search of tissues. Dylan crossed the room to her in three great strides, kneeling and grabbing her hand. They both looked so concerned, which made Emma feel worse.

"Can you – can – can you find my dad?" she asked through hot tears. Norman nodded and fled the room. Dylan wiped at her cheek, whispered nonsense at her, nonsense that made her feel better anyway.

"No, Emma, it's – okay. It's a lot, I get it, but y-you're... allowed to live too, you're supposed to live, that's the point." His words were a jumbled, stumbling mess. "You didn't steal these lungs. Y-you didn't. You didn't kill anyone. They're a, a gift, and all you have to do now is… use them. Please don't think about the sad parts. Think about, uh… think about the rest of it. About all those extra sunrises you get. And you and me, we'll… we'll take a trip, when you're ready. Wherever you want, okay? Please, Emma." As he spoke he kissed her nose, her wet salty cheek beneath the plastic tube of the cannula, her trembling lips. Emma wondered how he knew just what to do to make her feel better.

"Thank you." The tears wouldn't stop, but at least she could smile past them, and by the time Norman returned with her father, Emma and Dylan had composed themselves. Just enough.

"What happened?" Will Decody took over the chair so recently vacated by Norman.

Emma turned to Dylan, not trusting her own voice. "I think it's the… uh… it's all catching up to her," he tried. Emma saw his brow furrow as Will nodded and picked up her hand, speaking in low warm tones. She recognized that face, the one Dylan made whenever he was shutting down to keep from hurting. She wanted to help him, but it was true… the lungs now allowing her to breathe were also such a heavy burden, suffocating Emma under endless questions about the donor's identity.

"I just need to know if she suffered," Emma managed at some point, although the words were almost unintelligible. "Was she hurting, or… or… did she even know? Did she know who she was saving? What if there was a better match, dad? What if someone out there just died because I took these lungs first?"

"Emma, I've told you, you were the best match. At some point, that's got to be enough. The donor never woke up, but her family knew a little about you. I heard they were glad to know a young woman would have a – " his voice faltered and Will Decody looked up at Dylan, eyes too damp. "A second chance." Emma reached for her father's sandpaper-rough cheek.

"Hey, no. Don't you cry too, you're supposed to be the stoic one, remember?" He chuckled at that, and sniffed, and swiped at his eyes. "Now come on, all of you. My physical therapist is coming, and he's kinda cute. I don't want him seeing me surrounded by a roomful of crying men!" She still ached with a need to know more about whose lungs she carried, but in the face of everyone else's raw pain, Emma Decody defaulted to caretaker status as easy as… breathing.

The therapist might have been attractive… It was hard for Dylan to be sure about things like that. He had Gunner's thick sandy hair, which was annoying as fuck. And an easy smile. And he was definitely too young for Dylan's taste.

"Come along, son. She doesn't need us here for this," Will suggested kindly, and Dylan allowed himself to be shepherded toward the door along with Norman.

The PT stopped them. "Actually, Mr. Decody, you should stay. I'll show you some exercises to help Emma at home."

Out in the hall, Dylan breathed a relieved sigh at the idea of Emma having a chaperone. Norman turned a quizzical stare on him.

"Is everything okay? You've been acting strange ever since we got here." Dylan tilted his head at the irony of the accusation, but let it go for now.

"I'm fine. I'm tired as hell, though, I won't lie."

The brothers paced the halls, not bothering with small talk. Occasionally Dylan watched Norman from the corner of his eye. There was something different about him here. He hardly seemed the same boy who'd carried on that eerily flat, polite conversation while driving in to Portland. He seemed more like the Norman of a year ago, more awake and… human. Dylan hated himself for thinking of his brother in those terms. He also hated admitting Emma might be the source of the difference. She seemed able to reach him on a level few others could.

"So what's up with you two, anyway?" Dylan began. Fishing, but Norman didn't seem to mind. "Emma was your freaking shadow for a while there. Then suddenly, you have to be reminded she's in the hospital?"

Norman's mouth twitched down slightly. "It's not like that. I've been dealing with a lot recently, with Mother."

"Yeah. I get that. But I mean, you do have feelings for Emma, right?"

"She's a good friend."

"So you two never…?"

"God no. She was sick. And then we… well, I guess you could say we just outgrew each other. I'll always care for her, yes. But Emma's dying. She's not someone to tie your future to."

"Shit, Norman!" Dylan shivered. "That was a really dick thing to say."

"I'm not trying to be a dick, I'm just trying to look at the situation rationally. There's no point in pretending it's not going to happen."

"But – dammit Norman, even if you're not together, she's your friend."

"Of course. And it's tragic, what's happening to her. But everyone's dying, all the time." Norman's speech began to accelerate, his movements growing jerky and nervous. "In a way maybe she's lucky, since she knows how she has so little time left. Most people have no idea, and so they waste it. They do… horrible, horrible things with their time, and to each other, and they never care about anything real, and then one day it's just – it's just… over. And what's the point of that? I don't know, maybe we should envy people like Emma."

The hall was silent but for the echo of their shoes.

"Sorry. That was…" Norman paused for a shaky breath. "I don't know what came over me. I didn't mean it, Dylan. I don't want Emma to die," and he looked over at his brother, eyes bright with unshed tears. "She is my friend. She's my only friend."

"Hey, come here." Dylan pulled his little brother into a quick hug. "She's going to live, man. She's got these lungs now, these brand new lungs, right? And she's… she's Emma. She doesn't even know how to give up."

Taking Norman home – and a tough, emotional discussion with Norma about the events of the morning – consumed most of Dylan's day. It was sunset by the time he returned to the hospital. He found Will pacing in the hall outside Emma's room, and felt his heart drop into his stomach.

"Everything's fine, Dylan. She passed her swallow test, they're just removing a couple chest tubes. Nothing we would want to watch, I promise you."

"But that's…. I mean, that's good though, right? She can start eating again?"

"Yes, it's good," Will smiled. "And not the only good news, either. Wait until you see."

It was obvious the minute he entered the room. She could have shaved her head and it would have had the same effect.

The cannula that had fed Emma oxygen for as long as he'd known her was… gone.

"Ta-da," she sang weakly, still sore from the tube removals. "This is my new face."

Dylan ran one hand through his hair and laughed.

"God Emma, you're fucking beautiful."

"Hey," Will warned from behind him, and Dylan blushed. "He is right, though," Emma's father continued, crossing to her side and pressing a kiss to her bare cheek.

"So I guess the big question," she grinned, "Is what are you gentlemen doing for dinner?"

Emma ordered from her restricted menu while Dylan made a run to the cafeteria; it was dark before they sat down together, crowded around Emma's hospital bed. Will Decody and his daughter joked and ate and asked about each other's day, and Dylan watched them, confused. He'd had a lot of family dinners. Not a lot of them felt like this.

"Dylan? Is everything okay?" Emma was smiling at him. Her cheeks were rounder without the constricting plastic tube; softer, more inviting. Despite a week in the hospital, she looked radiant.

"Yeah, uh… It's just… I feel like maybe I'm intruding," he confessed with a frown. "Like I've overstayed my welcome."

"Nonsense," Will smiled. He had been smiling a lot more ever since the surgery. "You're family."

Dylan caught Emma's eye. She sparkled. It hurt, how much Will Decody's words and Emma's brightness and their happy ease lulled him into thinking he was allowed all this.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and noticed a voicemail from Gunner. Odd. Check-ins with Gunner were usually in the late morning; they'd already spoken once today.

"Uh, sorry, I should probably get this," he offered, excusing himself to one corner of the room. Emma and Will continued their conversation, although Emma's eyes were trained on Dylan. He smiled reassuringly as he held the phone to his ear.

He hung up again halfway through the message, hands trembling in fear and anger. He could tell Emma knew something was wrong. Lying to her was not an option: she'd just keep pressing. Instead, he bit at his lower lip and tried not to let Will Decody's presence bother him too much as he stole one more perfect kiss from Emma.

"I gotta go. Chick Hogan stopped by the farm this evening."

She gasped. "Gunner?"

"He sounded okay," Dylan hedged. "A little worse for wear, but nothing we can't handle. Chick threatened to set fire to the whole place, though, so I really do have to get going."

"Dylan…." Emma raised one hand to his cheek. His chest ached at the touch. "Be safe, okay?"

"Yeah – of course." He feigned an optimism he did not feel. "I'll be back before you know it."

I love all of you who have taken the time to leave me some feedback. THANK YOU! It's so much more fun writing when I know there are people at the other end, reading!