Chapter Text
"The apotheosis is upon us!"
No matter how jubilant the cry was, everything about it makes Emma's blood run ice-cold. She's practically frozen in fear. She falls to her knees as they surround her, all with those crazy fucking grins and a perfect finishing note. She screams in pure agony, but it falls on deaf ears. All this was for nothing.
Emma's life is as good as over.
But damn it if she won't fight to the very end.
They– whatever they are –grab her arms, pulling her every which way. She knows them. Or– well, she knows who they were .
Zoey, that fucking Broadway wannabe. She'd probably participate in this willingly . And so would– well, so did Professor Hidgens. She shouldn't have thought he'd be helpful. He's a lunatic.
Paul's coworkers, the nice one and the asshole who never got her name right. Another guy in a suit, presumably another one, or maybe Paul's boss? Oh, and Emma's own boss. She doesn't really mind that Nora's dead. She never liked her much anyways.
But really, what hurts the most is looking at him . When she first saw him, she was so happy. It felt like her perfect happy ending. But then she was punched in the face with reality.
Emma Perkins doesn't get happy endings. Her whole life has been an endless series of thinking she's on the right track, but then immediately falling right back down the cliff. Why would now be any different? She can feel the tips of someone's fingers dig hard into her arm as they drag her. She tries to flail and struggle, but it's futile. She elbows one of them in the stomach, but it barely even makes them flinch.
"Let go of me-!" She screams, attempting another elbow hit, but they only tighten their grip.
She catches Paul's eyes, cold and blue and dead with that maniacal smile that doesn't reach them and just looks uncanny, and she pleads. "Paul, please, I know you're in there somewhere. It's Emma. Please don't do this to me." She begs, using her biggest, saddest eyes. It's not even entirely an act, because she can feel tears pricking in the corners of her eyes and her voice catches in her throat.
And for a second she can almost see him.
She can almost see Paul— the real Paul —in his eyes. The way his features soften and the smile turns slightly less wide.
She might be able to get through to him.
“Oookay psychos, I’m gonna need you to let go right now-“ She’s able to get her left arm free, and she punches one of them in the stomach— hard —which while it doesn’t seem to really hurt them, they at least flinch enough to let Emma get her arm out of their grasp.
And she doesn’t waste time. She takes her moment of freedom to immediately grab onto Paul’s shoulders, practically falling into him, staring intensely into his wide blue eyes. She’s sure to anyone else he would look just the same as all the others. But she sees him. And she’s not gonna stop until she gets him out or dies trying.
“Paul. Listen to me. You can still win. You hate musicals, right? You’re Paul fucking Matthews, and you absolutely hate musicals.” She digs her nails into the fabric of his suit jacket on his shoulders. "Listen. Paul, I know you're in there. Please ." Her voice trembles softly, and she doesn't even mean for it to. God, she hates how much she cares about this dork. She almost never cries, but here she is, feeling the tears rising up again.
She's deduced that currently, Paul must be the leader of their group. Because when he freezes in place, and his grin turns to something more akin to a grimace, the others freeze too. But they keep their smiles and their cold, dead eyes. Paul doesn't. Because Paul is alive .
She somehow feels safe now, like she's already won. But she knows she hasn't, even as she leans further into Paul, her forearms rested against him. His body is still warm— which is a nice break from the ice cold hands of the rest of the hive —and so she moves her hands down to take his and hold them tight, clasping their hands together between them. He just stares at her, eyes wide and unmoving as his grin fades away. He doesn't look scary anymore. He just looks like Paul. Paul with his constant expression of mild uncomfortability, and his big eyes, and definitely not sporting a manic grin. She repeats his name like a prayer in her mind, hoping that somehow if she can remind him who he was— no, who he is —he'll come back to her.
"What were you saying earlier? That I'd lost ? That all of this was inevitable ? Well, look where we are now. We're winning, Paul." She smiles warmly, even as tears gently drip down her face. She's up on her tiptoes, face to face with him— because the guy's over a foot taller than her, that doesn't make things easy —and she stares so hard into his eyes she's almost surprised she can't see straight through to his brain. She doesn't even want to look at the people surrounding them, frozen in their place like disturbed statues. All her focus is on Paul. And if she focuses hard enough, stares into his eyes deep enough, she can reach in and grab whatever's got its hold on him. Her voice escapes as a broken whisper, but she's still smiling softly through her tears that won't cease.
"You're not dead yet, Paul."
And the moment that follows might just be the best one of her entire worthless life.
He moves for the first time since she'd clung onto him, tightening his grip on her hands. His voice is a breathy, incredulous whisper— and he's talking , really talking —as he stares back at her with a gaze as warm and alive and bright as the sun.
"Emma."
Hearing his voice— her name —makes her heart swell with accomplishment and pride, but also another feeling, a much softer one. Her smile widens into a grin, eyes scrunching as she shuts them tightly, attempting to blink out tears, but they just keep flowing. But she doesn't mind. She lets go of his hands, only to immediately wrap her arms around him, hugging him tight like he could fade away any moment. "Paul, oh my god…" Her voice is a cry of pure relief, louder and tighter than it should be, but it's brimming with all the emotions she's feeling as she feels Paul return the hug. She melts against him as his arms wrap around her, and he tilts his head down to look at her.
She opens her eyes, meeting his, and he looks just as grateful as her— but absolutely awed as well. It's him. It's really him. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He simply lets out a breath, almost fading to a laugh at the end, shaking his head in disbelief. She smiles up at him, a closed-lip smile that reaches all the way to her eyes, and she laughs softly as well. God, she's just so happy to have him back. Really back.
She nestles her face back into his shoulder, and there they stay for a few moments, relishing the feelings. The moments feel like forever, but it still feels colder when Paul pulls back, placing his hands on Emma's shoulders. "Emma…how did you…why did you keep trying? How did you even realize-"
"Something about you. Guess I just had a feeling that the guy who doesn't like musicals wouldn't succumb to a musical zombie virus as easy as all these other idiots." Paul laughs softly, and Emma feels her chest bloom with warmth. She's gotta find some way to lighten up the mood— even positive emotions can be heavy sometimes.
"Yeah." He nods with a gentle smile and a softness in his expression, until suddenly a movement makes the two immediately jolt. The people around them, previously frozen, are now stirring. Paul and Emma share a look, wide eyed and tense, which basically conveys "Oh fuck ". The hive seems to reanimate, heads straightening up and grins stretched as far as they can, and they're closing in on them .
Emma immediately turns away from Paul, switching from whatever soft sappy side of her had escaped for a moment back to herself. And Emma's ready to fight some zombies.
Paul, to her left, tries his best to mimic Emma's aggression, but being Paul he doesn't quite get there. He can never quite seem to mask the anxiety in his expression, making him not exactly intimidating , but she appreciates how ready to fight he seems.
But none of that matters. Emma slips her backpack off her shoulders, resting it on one knee to unzip it before she reaches in and pulls out a shotgun. She zips back up the bag, throwing it back on with a sideways glance over to Paul's shocked expression. She flashes him a quick grin before spinning around to face the hive approaching them.
"I've beat you once, I can beat you again…" She mumbles as she aims, fending off the closest ones. They flinch back from the bullets, which is good enough for Emma. She grabs the arm of a very nervous and frozen Paul, and they run like hell .
It's like an action movie, sprinting through the trees, a still very shaken Paul in tow, shooting at the infected who get a little too close for comfort. And Emma, despite fearing for both her and Paul's lives, feels fucking awesome .
They run for what feels like hours– but really, it was only around 15 minutes –before they figure they've completely lost their pursuers. They're in a small forest clearing, not too far from the bridge back to Hatchetfield. Emma collapses onto the soft grass, breathing heavily and wiping sweat from her brow. Beside her, Paul leans over, also catching his breath. "Emma…what the hell…was that?"
She falls backwards onto the grass with a soft thud, laughing. "What that was was me saving your ass. You're welcome."
Paul lets out a short breathy laugh, smiling slightly. "Thanks." He sits down on the grass next to Emma, whose breath has evened out and is now basking in the feeling of just being able to lay down and relax for the first time in…a while .
Hell, she hasn't been able to relax since all this started. She's been constantly on high alert, survival her constant top priority. But now– even though she knows she isn't completely safe, she feels calmer. She turns her head to glance over up at Paul, who's staring off into space with an expression like he's deep in thought. She nudges him lightly with her forearm. "What's up?"
He blinks, snapped out of his thoughts. "Um, I'm just…really confused. About all of this. I just don't know…what's so special about me?"
Emma sighs, staring back up at the sky. It's a good question. If she wanted to be funny, she'd say it was Paul's intense hatred for musicals manifesting as superpowers, but the question really does stick with her. What is so special about Paul? She bites the inside of her cheek, furrowing her brows.
"I don't know. But I'm fucking thankful for it."