#i only need it for one line where ted (newly in a time loop & just invited jamie back to richmond from his pov)

[femininenachos]

thank you so much for giving us an update on this! I really love the magaya au, where the story is going and just the way you're handling the whole thing. Can't wait for the next update (PS the gay panic Lexa had when a pretty girl touched her was a little too relatable)

Previously on Make America Gay Again: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

~~ * ~~

How about we take this someplace warmer, preferably inside?

It was supposed to be a throwaway suggestion; a joke. It genuinely wasn’t Clarke’s intention for it to come out sounding like a bad pick-up line, flirty undertone and all.

Except here’s the thing: 

Lexa agrees.

Shoots off the bench so fast it’s like someone jammed a red hot poker up her ass. And from Clarke’s perspective, it’s difficult to gauge if Lexa is that desperately eager to continue their conversation or she just really wants to escape the cold. But whatever the motivating factor might be, Clarke is more than okay with it.

It’s not even the first time her expectations have been upended today, which seems to be a recurring theme with Lexa. This gap between how Clarke assumes Lexa will react and the reality keeps throwing her for a loop.

She was ready to do the hard sell to convince Lexa to join forces. She’d rehearsed a whole TED Talk in the shower this morning, full of poignant emotional beats, weighty pauses, and a powerful closing statement.

It’s almost disappointing she didn’t get the opportunity to deliver it.

Because, with surprisingly little effort expended on Clarke’s part, Lexa is on board. 

They’re a team now.

Committed to working together; fighting for a common cause; ready and willing to do whatever it takes to prevent one less piece of human garbage from getting re-elected to public office.

Clarke is so fucking amped about their newly struck alliance, thoughts racing ahead at a mile a minute once they set off, that they’re at the park gates before it occurs to her she doesn’t have an actual destination in mind.

She comes to a gradual stop. Squints and scratches her head. “So, uh, where to?”

Lexa turns, slipping her hands into the vertical pockets of her dark wool coat as the blustery wind picks up again, scattering clumps of fallen leaves across the ground. With all the detailing on the coat—epaulettes and double-breasted brass buttons—she half reminds Clarke of a naval commander on shore leave. Which is a slippery slope to be on, because in the next second she’s picturing Lexa wearing an officer’s cap. Or rather, taking it off and shaking out that gorgeous mane of hair and…

No. This is not the time or place for rogue fantasies about Lexa stripping out of uniform.

“Hm. Well. Nowhere too public,” Lexa says, drawing Clarke’s attention back to their current predicament. “We can’t risk anyone eavesdropping and tipping off journalists—or, worse, my father’s campaign team.”

Clarke chews her lip as she considers their options, racking her brain and coming up empty. Until a radical idea enters from left field. It’s probably inappropriate, but she’s at a loss for other alternatives when discretion is paramount.

“My place is only four stops away on the metro.” 

(She isn’t still thinking about the hat. She isn’t.)

Lexa’s eyes go round. “Oh.” She peers at Clarke, uncertain, brow furrowing slightly. “I’d hate to impose.”

Clarke downplays it with a shrug, faking indifference while she ignores the flutter in her stomach. “You wouldn’t be. Plus, my roommate is away all week visiting his girlfriend so you don’t need to worry about your secret collusion with the enemy getting out.”

Lexa hesitates for a long moment, lips pursed in thought as she weighs the offer. Another strong gust batters them and Lexa shivers visibly this time, a full body shudder as she brings her shoulders up. Acting on impulse, Clarke unwinds the green and silver striped scarf (Slytherin represent) from her own neck and loops it around Lexa’s instead. 

“Looks like you need it more than I do,” Clarke explains, taking note of the pink tips of Lexa’s tiny, tiny ears and how they turn a deeper shade of red. It’s far too endearing and Clarke has to bite her lip to contain the little grin that threatens to overtake her entire face.

The gesture seems to startle Lexa out of her indecision, a softly spoken “if you’re sure” breathed out into the frosty air.

That’s how they find themselves on a crowded subway train ten minutes later, standing room only. The carriage was busy to begin with but when another twenty or so passengers pile on at the next station, jostling for limited space, Clarke is forced to move closer to Lexa to make room. Which is fine, until some jerk rudely pushes past them and Clarke loses her footing. Lexa catches Clarke’s elbow at the same time she stumbles into Lexa’s body, an automatic “sorry” leaving both their lips on impact.

Shaken, it takes Clarke a beat to register the sudden intimacy of their position. Her hands grip both ends of the borrowed scarf Lexa still wears and Lexa’s head is bent close, mouth only inches from Clarke’s. She gradually becomes aware of several details: the gentle fan of Lexa’s (mild coffee) breath over her cheeks; the slow bat of dark lashes; the shallow crease down the middle of an exceptionally pouty bottom lip; the two-inch height advantage Lexa has over her in heels. This close, she’s enveloped in a fog of perfume; it’s floral, undoubtedly expensive, and it smells fucking amazing on Lexa. Individually, these things would be enough to throw off Clarke’s equilibrium. Cumulatively? She’s way too bi for this. 

But the thing that makes her pulse leap and her mouth run dry is the way Lexa’s heavy gaze searches her face in return. Roaming across Clarke’s features before landing on her parted lips. Lingering there for a second or two too long. Pupils dilated. Eyes burning with an intensity that sends a warm flush across Clarke’s skin. When their eyes lock, clashing in the cramped space, Clarke feels her cheeks grow hotter.

“Are you okay?” Lexa asks in a low voice laced with concern.

Clarke swallows thickly and gives a nod. “Yeah.” She lets go of the scarf; adding, embarrassed, “Thanks.” 

But Lexa’s hand remains cupped around Clarke’s elbow until they leave the train, the touch scorching a hole through her sleeve.

~~*~~

“Sorry about the mess,” Clarke says preemptively as she lets Lexa in. “If I’d known I was going to have a guest…”

It would probably still look like a tornado hit the place.

Lexa’s gaze moves around the living room, taking in the shabby interior with a hard to read expression. The longer the silent appraisal goes on, the more self-conscious Clarke becomes about the piles of papers and empty takeout containers on the coffee table, the clothes strewn over the back of the couch, and the fact she hasn’t vacuumed since Lincoln left for DC. 

“Just give me a minute to move all this crap.”

She scoops the clothes up in both arms and tosses them into her bedroom then shuts the door. Makes a trip to the kitchen to find a trash bag and stuff the takeout boxes into it. When she returns, Lexa is perched gingerly on the edge of the two-seater next to the window. She couldn’t look more out of place if she tried, juxtaposed amongst the mismatched furniture. Clarke almost laughs at the sight: this buttoned-up socialite with an air of mild superiority and barely a hair out of place, despite being windswept on the way over, slumming it in Clarke’s crummy apartment.

But she remembers her manners.

“Can I get you a snack or something to drink?”

Lexa demurs with a subtle shake of her head and a small smile. “I won’t stay long.”

She takes off the scarf and folds it on her lap but doesn’t remove her coat or even unfasten it. 

It is a little chilly in the apartment, so Clarke turns on the space heater for a quick blast before hanging up her parka on the hook beside the front door. She crosses the room to take up her usual spot on the couch.

“So?” Off the questioning look she receives, Clarke fills in, “Our plan of attack.”

Lexa’s shoulders relax by a degree. “Right.”

“Is there any dirt we can dig up about his personal life? Or, like, some kind of MeToo misconduct?” Clarke sits forward, elbows on her knees. “If we disgrace him, we could force him out of the race.”

“Doubtful. He’s always strived to show he’s a morally upstanding, church-going family man. And for reasons that escape me, he truly is devoted to my stepmother.” Lexa speaks as though the words leave a sour taste in her mouth. “So unless he had a secret affair that he’s done an excellent job of keeping hidden, I don’t think we’ll find anything.”

“What about his finances? Any irregularities there?”

“It’s on record that he has close ties with big pharma lobbyists and the oil industry. It doesn’t mean he’s breaking any rules. Besides, even if he was, I couldn’t gain access to that kind of information without raising suspicions.”

“Okay.” Clarke sighs, eyes downcast. 

She pulls off the beanie and sweeps a hand roughly through her hair in frustration, fingers getting caught briefly in a snag. Frowning at herself, she scoops her hair up into a ponytail using the elastic tie she habitually wears on her left wrist.

When she looks up again, she thinks she sees Lexa gulp before Lexa’s gaze shifts away to the side.

The immediate flush that creeps up Clarke’s neck has less to do with the space heater making the roam toastier by the minute than the fact Lexa was obviously staring at her.

A bit too abruptly, Clarke stands and hooks her thumb towards the kitchen. “I’m just going to grab a water. Sure you don’t want anything?”

Another shake of Lexa’s head. “No, thank you.”

Despite the polite refusal, Clarke returns with two glasses filled to the brim. 

(And so what if it took longer than it strictly should have, just because she had to open the fridge door and stand there for a minute to cool her cheeks?)

Her step falters when she discovers Lexa’s coat is gone, folded neatly over the armrest. She wears an ivory blouse tucked into her skirt, the boat neck providing a clear view of sharply defined collarbones, and Clarke shouldn’t be so compromised by this development but she is.

Seriously, why does Lexa’s every physical attribute have to be so offensively attractive? It’s like the universe is testing Clarke’s ability to function.

Somehow, she pulls it together. Responds to the raised eyebrow, aimed at the second glass she’s holding, with a casual shrug. “It’s important to stay hydrated.”

Their fingers brush as Clarke passes the glass over and she’s very careful not to react.

Lexa’s lips curve up slightly. “Something you and my stepmother agree on.”

The thought of sharing Nia Woods’s opinion on anything fills Clarke with abject horror. It makes her want to pour out the damn water and come back with that bottle of vodka from the back of the ice box. It must show in her expression because Lexa’s smirk grows a fraction wider.

“Don’t worry, Clarke. I won’t tell a soul. Your liberal credentials will remain intact.”

Clarke gives a withering look and sits down again. 

“Anyway,” she says pointedly. “There has to be something we can pin on your dad. A guy like that doesn’t get to be in the position he’s in without greasing a few palms and trading favours.”

Lexa scoffs. “Show me a politician who hasn’t. Even Democrats aren’t above reproach. Thelonious Jaha. Jacapo Sinclair. Diana Sydney. Shall I go on?”

“There are bad apples on both sides of the floor.”

“At least Republicans are transparent about their greed.”

“Just not their multitude of other sins.”

They lapse into a tense, prickly silence, one that lengthens as they hold one another’s stare, a combative glint in their eyes. While Clarke can’t deny there’s something invigorating about the verbal sparring, it isn’t getting them anywhere.

“Look, Lexa, I get that you’re reluctant to resort to underhanded tactics but destroying his reputation might be the only way to bring him down. If you haven’t got the stomach for it—“

“I didn’t say that.” Lexa’s jaw tightens. A few seconds elapse then she lets out a long, drawn out sigh. “Whatever I think of his politics or his character, it’s hard not to retain some affection for the man who raised me.”

Lexa places her untouched glass of water on the coffee table. She stares at her lap, adjusting the hem of her skirt.

“He wasn’t always like this.” Her voice is sadder, more subdued when she adds, “After my mother passed away, he changed.” She appears to fold in on herself a little, spine sagging under the weight of this admission. “Not that he was ever an open-minded, tolerant person but he was more… moderate, I suppose. Less entrenched in his views.” A muscle ticks in Lexa’s cheek. “Grief transformed him beyond recognition.”

Clarke is up and moving before it really occurs to her what she’s doing. She sinks into the seat beside Lexa, like her presence, the nearness might bring comfort.

“Part of me always hoped he’d mellow,” Lexa continues. “That eventually he would come around to scientific fact over religious dogma. Or, I don’t know, he’d be swayed by an appeal to his sense of humanity or whatever shred of common decency remains.” 

“It’s still possible.”

A wan smile tugs at Lexa’s mouth. “I think we both know that isn’t true.”

There’s a lull.

Until Clarke speaks up. “I lost my Dad when I was seventeen. Natural causes. If you can say that about an outwardly fit and healthy forty-two year old man. He was fine one day and the next,” she puffs out her cheeks and blows out a slow breath, “gone. He suffered a massive myocardial infarction while he was out running. Rare genetic heart disorder. Nobody knew.”

Lexa reels back slightly, brows shooting up. “Genetic…?”

“I got tested. I don’t have it.”

The relief that drains through Lexa’s face is instantaneous, but Clarke refuses to dwell on what it means.

“I’m so sorry, Clarke. Were you close?”

A nod. “We loved watching soccer games and old movies together. We had the same nerdy sense of humour and it drove Mom crazy.”

The way Lexa looks at her now, eyes glowing with soft sympathy, makes Clarke’s throat constrict, a hard lump of emotion wedging itself in her esophagus. But she finds the strength to keep going.

“Bereavement affects people in different ways. There’s no timetable, no universal coping mechanism. My Mom—she’s a surgeon—threw herself into work. I hardly saw her for the first six months afterwards. Any time I tried to talk about Dad she shut down, stopped the conversation and left the room. It took her years just to get to the point where she could even mention his name in front of me. We’re in a better place now. We talk. But it was kind of a fraught journey to get there.”

Clarke allows Lexa to process the exposition dump in silence for a moment.

She sighs at last. “I guess what I’m saying is: it’s never too late for personal growth, even for Titus fucking Woods.”

They share a wry glance and the tightness in Clarke’s throat recedes, the band of pressure around her ribs loosening.

“I hope you’re right,” Lexa says, so softly. And there’s something about the brittleness of her smile that tugs at Clarke in a way she can’t explain.

“Would it be too weird if I hugged you?” Seeing the surprise register on Lexa’s features, Clarke quickly backtracks. She waves it off. “Yeah, of course. It’s weird. Stupid question. Never mind.”

“Clarke.”

“Forget I said anything.”

Lexa puts her hand on Clarke’s wrist and, cliched as it is, Clarke feels a bolt of electricity shoot up her arm at the touch of their skin.

“I don’t usually—I’m not really one for—” Lexa presses her lips together. She shuts her eyes briefly. Resets and tries again. “If the offer is still open, I think I’d like that hug. Please.”

It’s the thin, strained ‘please’ that gets to Clarke most.

Awkwardness ensues. There’s a bit of logistical trial and error, a wordless negotiation of whose arm goes where, an exchange of sheepish smiles. But as soon as Clarke’s arms wrap around Lexa’s shoulders and she feels Lexa’s hands slide across her back through the fabric of her sweater, it’s like something clicks into place. 

The sensations hit her dizzyingly all at once. If she thought Lexa smelled incredible before, it’s overwhelming now. Her hair and her perfume and the scent of her skin. As covertly as possible, Clarke breathes it all in. And it strikes her how warm Lexa is. Warm and soft, despite her thin frame, and Clarke wants to melt into it. Attuned to the pressure of each finger against her spine, she’s hyper aware of every place that they’re touching: chests flush, knees knocking, the soft strands Lexa’s hair tickling her cheek. Clarke’s chest aches with the urge to pull Lexa tighter against her, to press her nose against Lexa’s throat, to let her mouth—

A light expulsion of air close to her ear sends a tingle rolling down Clarke’s spine. She can’t hide her body’s reaction, can’t prevent the sharp intake of breath. It’s a reflex; beyond her control. 

It snaps her out of this haze.

God, what the fuck is she doing?

There isn’t really a graceful way to disengage, especially when Lexa seems reluctant to let go. They both inch back, arms still loosely looped around one another, and Clarke makes the stupid mistake of catching Lexa’s eye.

There’s a moment.

An infinite moment of stillness where neither of them move.

A look on Lexa’s face that shakes Clarke to the core, that causes her stomach to plummet, heat coiling low in her belly. It’s that same hot gleam in Lexa’s eyes that Clarke glimpsed on the train but magnified to the extreme, pupils large and black enough to swallow her whole.

Lexa’s half-lidded gaze keeps flicking between Clarke’s mouth and her eyes. 

She can’t remember anyone looking at her with this much thirst. 

It makes her head spin.

“Clarke.”

Her name from Lexa’s lips seems like the most loaded word in the English language, a 12-gauge round that obliterates the last of Clarke’s self-control.

She isn’t sure who reaches for the other first, her own hand sliding across Lexa’s jaw as Lexa’s palm cups the back of her neck. 

All that matters is that Lexa’s mouth is soft and eager, and she makes a noise that sends a warm flood of excitement through Clarke when she licks inside.

Part 8

[mimymomo]

We We’re Inevitable PaulxEmma One-Shot

I posted this on AO3 and I’m really proud of it so I’m posting it here too. I really want to expand it as well so if anyone’s interested I will. In this story Paul and Emma get the happy ending they deserved. Plus there’s dogs!

“Well, goodbye Kelly! Good luck with the pot farm.” Emma, or should she say Kelly now, glances up to say thank you. A pot farm, far away from Hatchetfield, all she wanted not even a week ago. Now she didn’t know what to think. Sure, she’s happy that she didn’t die and turn into one of those fucking musical zombies, but she couldn’t help and think about all she lost. Sweet ole Bill and poor Charlotte, Professor Hidgens, hell even Nora, Zoey and the asshole creep Ted. And Paul…oh Paul. ‘You were supposed to make it back to me. We had that date to go on…and now what?’

“Thanks.” 

“Oh, and one more thing. You will be escorted to Colorado by a Mr. Ben Bridges. He’s waiting outside.” Emma shot the soldier a confused look, “oh, I don’t know any Ben Bridges.”

“Well according to our records, you two seem to be pretty good friends. Peep would like to see it become something more.” The soldier smiled, about-faced and marched out the hospital room, leaving Emma to herself. She looked around what had been her room for the past week, ‘well goodbye Clivesdale, goodbye Emma Perkins, goodbye life I never thought I’d miss.’ As she begun to pick up her few things, someone entered the room. ‘Must be the nurse here to check on me again.’ However, when she turned her head, she was greeted to a sight she never thought she’d see again.

“Oh my god, Paul?” he had his signature goofy, dazed look on his face that morphed into a large smile at the sound of his name. “You made it!” Emma cried reaching out to grab him and pulled him into a hug. She needed to feel him. She needed his touch. For a week she was forced to face the facts that Paul was dead and gone. But now he’s here in her arms, perfectly safe and alive. His skin was cold when she touched him, but Emma couldn’t bring herself to care, just wrapping her arms and tightly around his torso. “We made it!” They made it, they were getting out of it. It was almost too good to be true.

“Emma, I’m sorry. You lost.”

Emma felt her blood freeze over and her body stiffened. She pulled herself out slightly from Paul’s embrace. ‘Did he just?’ No, there’s no way, he was fine. He was just pranking her. She gave him a smile in disbelief. Why was he pulling something like this now?

“Paul?”

“Emma, I’m sorry. You lost your way.”

Emma’s smile vanished. This wasn’t a prank. She began to pull her hands away, “Paul you’re scaring me.”

Paul began to waltz her around the hospital room, singing along to a song she couldn’t hear. “I’m still the man you trust. It’s inevitable for us!”

Emma began to cry, “no! Get away from me! You’re not Paul, you’re one of them!” Paul, no – that thing inside Paul, wouldn’t let her go. Her leg was killing her from being paraded around the room. Soon more people entered the room – Professor Hidgens, the nurse who must’ve been turned in the last few minutes, Ted, Bill, Nora, some random guy in a suit. All singing and dancing, circling her in. Emma broke though the group and out the door, down the dark hallway only to be brought back right back to her room.

“It’s just a fucking loop! What the fuck!” she screamed, limping away from the multiple hands that clawed out to grab her.

Suddenly, her hospital room transformed, the walls in front of her and to her sides fell, revealing an audience staring and watching her. She was on a stage. Her bed and IV had disappeared and the infected people started to sing towards the crowd and not her. Emma saw this as her chance to get help, she called out to the audience and begged them to help her, call someone, throw her a phone, do something, anything! No one helped, they just sat there – some with wide eyes, shocked that she was speaking to them. Others just laughed at her, at her pain. Did they not realize she was about to die and turn into one of those things?

She felt herself get pulled away by what used to be Bill and Ted and pushed into the center stage.  Bill and Ted joined the other in kick line, singing some song similar to the one Professor Hidgens sang in his bunker a few days ago. Emma screamed as they drew closer. When she got to the edge of the stage, she tripped to the floor.

Paul yelled, “THE APOTHEOSIS IS UPON‑”

“US!” the rest of group finished, reaching out to nab Emma. Emma felt body go in slow motion as she yelled and extended her hand outward for someone to help.

Then everything went dark.

Suddenly, the lights came back on and the audience is cheering in a thunderous applause. The infected people start linking hands and bowing. Emma takes this time to try calling for help once more. Nothing changes. This time everyone is laughing, pointing at her.

“WHY ARE YOU CLAPPING?”

More laughing ensues. Then she’s being dragged away again, this time towards backstage. She had no escape. She just kept screaming and screaming, her growing hoarse. ‘This is it,’ she thought despondent. ‘This is where I die, in Clivesdale at the hands of people I once considered friends and something more. Haha…’ The last thing Emma remembers before entering the dark is the lyrics to the song Paul was just singing; ‘It was inevitable.’

“- Perkins! Ms. Perkins! Emma Perkins wake up!”

Emma flashes open her eyes and jolts upwards to the sound of her name belling yelled. She can’t breathe, the world is spinning, and everything was blurry. She could see the outlines of two people staring at her, but she can’t fully register who they are. She can feel someone touching her but that just sends her into a further frenzy. “Get away from me! Don’t touch me!”

“Ms. Perkins please calm down! I’m nurse Joy Drewman. We’re just here to check on you,” the lady with long brown hair wearing all white exclaims soothingly. “It’s okay, you’re okay now.”

After a minute of heavy breathing, Emma felt herself simmer down. She looked around the room, she was in a hospital. She was wearing a hospital gown, IV taped to her arm and a bracelet with her medical information tightly wrapped around her wrist. To her left was a light cream wall with swirling patterns on it and an ugly painting hanging up. To her right was the door. Nurse Joy was checking her vitals and behind her, the soldier lady from her dream stood near the door. ‘God,’ Emma thought, ‘I feel like shit! And my leg is on fire.'

After the nurse finished checking on Emma, she left leaving the other two alone in the room. The soldier cleared her throat to gather Emma’s attention, “Emma Perkins, I’m Lieutenant Parks from United States Military, special unit PE IP. PEEP for short.” PE IP? Peep? “So Ms. Perkins, do you remember anything that has happened over this past week?”

Emma couldn’t NOT remember. The singing, and dancing, all the deaths… But what about Paul and all the infected people that were just in here? Why wasn’t she dead right now? “The meteor, and everyone was singing…”

“Yes, that’s right,” Lt. Parks nods. “A meteor touched down in Hatchetfield a little more than a week ago, spreading an infection killing nearly everyone on the town. We found you near the crash site of our military helicopter. You had had a long thin metal pipe bent through your leg as well as a few broken ribs and plenty of blood loss. You were barely conscious when we picked you up. You’re in Clivesdale General Hospital now, and you just had surgery for your leg. This is the first conversation I’ve been able to have with you fully attentive. You were having a pretty severe nightmare, weren’t you Ms. Perkins?”

'Nightmare? That’s what that was, just a dream?'

Emma shook her head in shock. Helicopter crash…Clivesdale hospital…surgery? So, all thought that really did happen, she could hardly remember any of that. “So, the meteor?”

“Was destroyed along with the Starlight Theatre. Hatchetfield has completely been sealed off from the rest of the mainland as well as any means of transportation to get there. We blew up the Nantucket Bridge. It was pretty damn awesome. We believe the meteor was what was controlling the infected people. The hive mind, you could call it. Once it was destroyed, the people infected all seemed to drop dead.”

Emma wished those words didn’t bring her comfort, that she was horrified at the realization that so many people in her old hometown were dead. But after all that happened back in Hatchetfield, in that…dream? She just couldn’t help herself. Yet Emma still was pensive around the lieutenant, could she trust this lady in front of her? “Lieutenant Parks,” Emma cut in, “was there, um, are there any survivors?” Emma knew she should keep her hopes down, but she couldn’t help but ask anyways. But now, what did she even want the answer to be?

“That’s what I’ve come in here to tell you. When we picked you up there was a certain name you were continuously mumbling; a Mr. Paul Matthews.” Emma whips her head up, “Paul?”

“Yes, Mr. Matthews. I’m pleased to tell you that we did in fact find him.” Emma stops breathing and locked eyes with the Lieutenant, “Paul is…alive?”

Lt. Parks smiles, “we found him buried under the rubble in the remains of the old theatre. He was badly beaten and barely hanging on but, yes, he was and still is alive. He’s was just taken out of the Intensive Care Unit and placed in the general ward.” Emma felt relief course through her body. Tears sprang into her eyes and she began to shake in her bed. “Oh thank God!” she cried, “oh Paul!”

“He’s been asking about you ever since he woke up. I was coming to see if you were up for little a little trip to visit him in his room?” Emma shook her head violently, ignoring her newly developing headache. It was a no brainer, she had to go to him. See him with her own eyes.

“Okay then,” Lt. Parks said. “I’ll call a nurse to bring you a wheelchair.” She leaves the room and Emma is by herself. ‘Shit, it really was a dream,' she thought, her head in a fog. 'We really did make it. Paul’s okay. He’s okay…’

Around ten minutes later, nurse Joy and Lt. Parks re-enter with a wheelchair. The two help Emma off her bed and into the chair, then they’re off. Once out the door, Emma makes a mental map of the trip to Paul’s room. ‘Out the door, make a left, go all the way down the hall to the elevator. Go three floors up then take a right and down the hallway.’ They keep going down the seemingly never-ending hallway until they reach room #511. When they got the door, Emma felt the restlessness return as she squirmed in her chair. She didn’t know what to expect when the door opened, she just wanted to see him. Lt. Parks swings open the door and Emma held her breath as she gets pushed into the room. Paul was sleeping soundly. His eyes were gently closed, and the bed sheet placed over his body rose and fell with his chest after each breath he took.

“Oh God…” Emma whispers bringing her hands up and over her mouth. He was covered in burns, the right of his face, his hands up to forearms. Everything was either covered in a bandage or a cast. And on closer inspection, Emma notices that the sheet was oddly flat where part of Paul’s left leg should’ve been. Emma turns to Lt. Parks, the older troop seemed to understand what Emma wanted to ask without her having to ask. “When we found him, the bottom half of his left leg had been trapped under a large pile of concrete and wooden beams. We had no way of moving the rubble and the leg was too badly damaged to be repaired so we had to make the call to…” She pauses and looked down at Emma’s face. The brunette was in distress but in her eyes the Lieutenant could tell she wanted her to continue. So, she did. “We had to have an emergency amputation.”

“Amputation?”

“We removed his leg, up to his knee, in order to transport him.”

“Fucking hell…” Emma mutters in exasperation. Paul, her Paul. He was here, right in front of her – broken, burned and missing half of his leg. ‘What the hell did I make him do?’

At that moment, Paul begun to stir, slowly peeling open his eye with a few blinks. “Ughh…”

“Paul?” Emma reaches out her arm to grab Paul’s hand, lacing their bandaged fingers together. “Paul can you hear me?”

Paul moans and turns his head in Emma’s direction. “Emma?” Emma began to sob, “oh Paul! Paul you’re okay!” She kisses the back of his burned, shriveled hand before placing her forehead down upon it. “Emma? You’re here?” Emma sobs even harder, his voice was groggy and strained but not one musical note could be heard.

He was really here and truly okay.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Lt. Parks booms from behind, backing out the door and closing it behind her.

“Fuck Paul, I thought you had died.” Paul just smiles and wipes away some of her stray tears with his fingers. “It was going to take a lot more to stop me from dying and leaving you alone.”

Emma giggles, her sobs slow into a trickle, “apparently you dumbass.” Paul gave her another grin then groans. Emma panics when Paul starts to glance downwards at his body. “Shit, I got pretty messed up, didn’t I?”

Emma couldn’t look at him anymore. “This was my fault.”

Paul turns back to look at her. “Emma you can’t mean that?”

“Paul you wouldn’t have to that meteor if I hadn’t asked you to. Hell, I wouldn’t have even had to ask you if I hadn’t fucked up my leg from not wearing my damn seatbelt on that helicopter. Now look at you!” she holds out her unoccupied hand and waves it up and down over Paul’s body. The tears had returned in full force. “You’re in a hospital missing part of your fucking leg because of me!”

“No Emma,” Paul exclaims, “if it wasn’t for you, and your idea to go back and blow up that meteor we’d all be dead. Every single last one of us.” He grabs both of her hands and gives them a comforting squeeze. “You saved me, you saved all of us. Besides, what’s half a leg when the alternative is becoming a mindless singing alien?”

Emma gave him a small smile through the tears, “of course you try pass the glory off to someone else.” After a few minutes her tears whittle down to a few streaks and her breathing returns to what could be consider normal. They sat, or Paul’s case, laid there not saying a word. Hand in hand, enjoying the others presence. They basked in the sun blazing through the window and the quiet, which in the past week, they’d come to really appreciate it.

Not even five minutes later, Lt. Parks and another nurse enter Paul’s room and tell her that she had to return to her room. Emma immediately tenses at the idea of leaving him again, but they quickly inform her that she would be allowed to come and see him again tomorrow. Paul gives her one last squeeze then they separate. They smile at each other as she is exited out the door.

After that, for the following two weeks this becomes their routine – Emma would be wheeled into Paul’s room and would spend as much time as they could together, just talking, telling stories, good and bad, comforting each other. Then at the end of the day, Emma would be rolled back to her room, only to repeat this process the next day and the days after that.

When Emma was set to be discharged early the next week, stitches removed and now able to walk on her own, she pleaded with Lt. Parks to let her stay with Paul until he was discharged as well. She couldn’t leave without him, not again. And a few days later, with some favors being done by Peep, Emma was given special privilege to stay with Paul in his room. They even brought in a spare cot for Emma to sleep on, which she later moved into the narrow spot in between Paul’s bed and the window. Lt. Parks said it was because there were still some more things that needed to be done dealing with their relocation, but Emma could tell she was lying.

Soon Paul began physical therapy, three times a week, to help with his limited mobility. Emma could tell he hated going but he never outwardly complains once. Emma knew it was because he didn’t want to upset her. She hated that he put on a brave face to soothe her, not once thinking about himself. On days after a particularly difficult session, Emma would sit with him on his bed and hold him close to her body. She ran her fingers up and down in circles on his back and would whisper just how proud she was of him in his ear.

Their first date wasn’t a silent movie at some indie theater like they planned, no – it was some Hallmark tv movie marathon in Paul’s hospital room surrounded by candies and snacks from the vending machine and hospital cafetorium. Plus, some food Emma snuck in from a McDonald’s down the street. They two feasts on junk food while curled up together on Paul’s bed, making fun each movie’s overall cheesiness and predictable plot. When nurse Joy comes by to check on the two, she is greeted to two fast asleep thirty-year old’s, candy wrappers and McDonald’s boxes strewn about the bed. The position the two are in is too cute, she doesn’t even dare wake them up. She just turns off the lights and closes the door – the only lights now come from the tv screen and the buildings, cars and sky above that shine in from the window. She can scold them over the outside food tomorrow.

Some days are easier than others. On one of those REALLY bad days, Emma can’t seem bring herself to move out of bed. She just stares blankly out the wide window, she hates these days. The days where she can’t help but think back and replay the incidents of Hatchetfield over and over in her head. Think back to all that happened to her new friends, what had happened to her sister. Wonder why she is still alive when so many others deserve it so much more than her? Wonder why she kept even trying to live on in the first place…

Emma hears the door to her and Paul’s room creak open and begins to turn around. She expects to see Paul being rolled into the room per usual. What she doesn’t expect is to see Paul standing up in the doorway, slowly making his way over to the bed on foot, by himself, a wide smile on his face. Nor does she expect the prosthetic leg attached to his left knee. Sure, he’s using crutches and his steps are awkward and stilted, and yes there’s nurses standing only inches away to catch him in case he falls, but that didn’t matter to Emma. He was walking again.

“Surprised?” Paul asks. Emma is stunned speechless. He continues on, “they’ve been letting me practice walking with a prosthesis during P.T. They think I’m ready to get fitted for my own leg now. I wanted to surprise you. Did it work?”

‘This is why,’ Emma thinks to herself, getting up from her bed and walking over to Paul. ‘He’s why.’

They share their first kiss in room #511 that day.

A few days before Paul is discharged, Lt. Parks comes back and gives them their new identities. “Here are you new passports, ID’s and everything you need detailing your new lives.” ‘Emilia Bradshaw…well hey it’s better than fucking Kelly that’s for sure.’

“Parker Murphy huh?” Paul says, eyes glued to the stacks of paper in front of them.

“You look like a Parker,” Emma jokes, ruffling Paul’s brown hair that was in major need of a haircut. Hell, both of their hair was in desperate need of some good old TLC.

Paul cracks a smile and looks up at her, “and you totally look like an Emilia.”

They are being sent to a plot of land in Colorado. ‘Colorado? Why does feel familiar?’ Emma stiffens the tiniest amount and scoots closer to Paul, nearly sitting in his lap. Without thinking about it, he immediately brings one of his arms up and wraps it around her body. He used to these moments of jumpiness, they both get them. Without Emma noticing, Lt. Parks had been talking about their living situation. ‘God, I hope Paul has been paying attention.’

“- nearly three acres of well treated land and house is brand new and completely furnished. And yes, it’s paid off. It’s quiet, private and best of all, only around thirty minutes away from the nearest heavily populated city so you don’t feel like you’re too far in the middle of nowhere. It’s a great place…” Emma held her breath, “…to start a family.”

Emma exhaled at the words, then after fully realizing what Parks was insinuating felt her face grow exponentially hotter. She looked up at Paul, only to see that his face and neck had gotten even redder than hers. They briefly lock eyes, quickly turning away. “Well I think that’s everything. I’ll see you two in a few days to take you to Colorado.” Then Lt. Parks takes her leave.

“Hey Emma,”

“What’s up?” she still couldn’t look at him in the face.

“Have you noticed that even with the new names, our nicknames could still be Emma and Paul?”

“What, seriously?” she asks finally turning back to Paul to see him nod his head up and down. “Emilia would be Em for short but if you add the ‘a’ from the end, it could be turned into Emma.”

“Shit you’re right.”

“Parker is a bit of a stretch, but I guess it’s kinda hard to find another ‘pau-’ names. So, I think it’s close enough to prove my point. Do you think they did that on purpose?”

“Oh definitely,” Emma concludes, looking over the documents again. They’re actually leaving, like for real now. They’re going to start their new lives together. Emma sees Paul fiddling with a few sheets of paper, trying his hardest to remember their travel itinerary. ‘Start a family huh?’ Even at a young age, Emma was turned off to the idea of settling down with a husband or wife and having children. ‘There’s too much out there to see and explore. There’s no time to settle down,’ is what she always said to her sister whenever she asked. But now, after everything that’s happened to her, settling down with Paul didn’t sound too fucking bad at all.

Colorado was pretty, well at least the land where her and Paul’s new house was at was. Acres of fenced off grassy hills, colorful trees and the view of distant mountain tops in the front and dense forestry surrounded their house in the back, plus there was a pool. A freaking pool! The actual house wasn’t too shabby either. In fact, it was pretty damn beautiful. When Lt. Parks said brand new, she wasn’t kidding. The house was huge – three stories tall to be exact, with 5 rooms and three and a half bathrooms. The kitchen was decked with the nicest stainless-steel appliances Emma had ever seen. Two ovens, a flat top stove and a long granite island in the middle. Emma had discovered her genuine love of baking during her time at Beanie’s, so she looked forward to spending quite a bit of time in there. The living room was big as well, with a leather couch, La-Z-Boy recliners, stone fireplace, and a 75-inch flat screen with both Netflix and Hulu on it. If Emma thought she was going to pass out in the kitchen, the revelation of tv wasn’t helping.

“Holy shit Paul, I’m never leaving!” Paul just laughs at how excited she was getting after exploring each new room. In all honesty, he was feeling a bit overwhelmed at all the excessiveness of the house but seeing Emma’s giddy reactions helped ease that tension.

The master bedroom was the cherry on top of Emma’s perfect sundae. Inside was a king-sized bed, dressers plus a walk-in closet, and a window which opened to reveal a balcony. Then there was the master bathroom that had two vanity sinks, a toilet and not only a walk-in shower but an old-fashioned bathtub as well.

“Oh God I need to lie down,” Emma muttered staggering towards the bed planting herself faced down on top of the comforter. “I’m dreaming, this must be a dream!” her words come out muffled from her head being buried.

Paul chuckles joining her on the bed, facing upwards though. “Not a dream Emma. This is really your house now.”

“Now, if only a puppy appeared, then it would be absolutely perfect!”

“With the size of this place we could probably get like six dogs…” Paul exhales. Emma turns to face Paul in brand new vigor, “so we can get six puppies?”

“We’re not getting six dogs Emma.”

She puts on the cutest pout Paul has ever seen, “but we are going to get A dog, right? Or two?”

“I can definitely agree to that,” Paul chuckles. Emma leans over and plants a sweet kiss on his lips which he quickly deepens. His lips are slightly chapped against hers which are freshly coated in cheap convenient store chapstick – it’s perfect and warm.

“We should go right now,” Emma speaks, fire in her eyes. Paul just looks at her, flabbergasted by her enthusiasm. “We just took a long flight to Colorado and finished moving in all of our stuff and you want to go out and buy a dog right now?”

“Yes!”

Paul rolls his eyes then closes them, “give me an hour to nap and I’ll be ready okay?”

Emma gives him an exaggerated groan in response but still snuggles in close to him, closing her eyes as well. “Fine, but in an hour we’re leaving.”

Paul kisses her forehead, “okay Emma.” They’re both out in a matter of minutes, the only sounds in the room is the two’s peaceful snores in harmony with the other.

Five hours later they two are leaving the pet store with bags of dry food, canned food, treats and every other dog accessory known to man. A small dog in both of their laps: a tiny black and brown chihuahua-yorkie mix named Socks in Emma’s and an adorably scruffy three-legged golden poodle terrier mix named Bee in Paul’s.

For now, their family was complete. And Paul and Emma couldn’t have been happier.