Author's Note: I'm not even going to apologize for how sappy this is. I just watched the Dollhouse series again, and was traumatized by Paul's death in Epitaph Two. A girl needs a happy ending, okay? Hope you enjoy!

Awake Again

It was the best and worst gift, the imprint of Paul's personality that she added to her own already-bursting-at-the-seams mind. The best because she got to have him, in some way, even though he was gone from her. The worst because now she could see everything he saw, feel everything he felt.

She could remember his quest to discover the Dollhouse, and how it became an all-consuming obsession once he saw her picture, once she became, for him, the physical embodiment of everything Dollhouse. The time he saw her on tv when she was infiltrating that insane cult (not insane, comes a whisper from somewhere in her mind. Misguided.), when he finally knew that not only was she real, but she was alive and out there.

He couldn't have explained why he needed it—needed to find the Dollhouse, but also to find her. He couldn't have explained what she meant to him, only that it went beyond simple proof that he'd been right the whole time. He may not have been able to explain, or to put a name to those things, but she could feel it now, with him inside her.

He had an opportunity, once, to release her from the Dollhouse, but he'd asked for Mellie to be freed instead. Echo could see the memory. He meant to free Caroline, but when the moment came, he feared that she would walk out that door and be lost to him always. It was selfish, maybe, but he hadn't been able to let her go.

She was glad of it, glad that she'd had the opportunity to fully realize her ability to control her multiple imprints. Glad she'd become Echo, and that Caroline was just one part of her. Because of it, she'd helped save the world, with Paul by her side.

And then not. Every imprint hidden in the library of her mind(except for Paul's own—stubbornly modest) loved him, missed him, mourned him. He was in there among them, but still, Echo couldn't touch him, couldn't feel him.

They'd made love countless times over the years, fleeting moments of intimacy that she hadn't allowed herself to focus on, not when a war was on. She couldn't afford distraction. But now, she wished she'd thought to memorize his body. She wished she'd allowed him to get close. Closer.

Echo thought about it now. Now that things were calmer, now that there was only a small group of them still living in the old Dollhouse, there was time. Nothing but time. There were meetings between the four who remained: Adelle, Anthony, Priya, and herself. They discussed the things that would have to be done when they finally got out after their year was up, the tech that still needed to be destroyed at other former Dollhouses across the country, about how to find and kill all of Harding and Ambrose's other bodies. But the only one who was free to leave the Dollhouse without fear of losing her memories was Adelle, and she only did so sparingly, for food and other necessary supplies. It seemed she was tied to this place, that it was so much a part of her that she didn't know what to do without it.

Aside from the meetings, Echo rarely left her pod. Funny how something so confining could come to be such a source of security. In the stillness of the small chamber, she would let Paul out. She would talk to him, confess all of the things she'd so foolishly kept hidden. She'd been afraid. She couldn't imagine a life without him, so she didn't. She hardly lived a life outside of the pod at all. Echo had fought long and hard, and now no one needed her. She was alone, pulling an imprint out to play, without the hope of ever touching him again. It was all she had.

Alpha was working on another gift, one that he kept secret, in case things went wrong.

No one even realized that he was still in the building. But he was there, in a laboratory just beyond the walls of the Dollhouse. If he could do it, if he could bring Paul Ballard back to life, it would be his greatest accomplishment.

It wasn't about Paul, although Paul and Alpha had become friends, after a time. After they'd ended up on the same team. After Alpha adapted, like Echo, to not only carry multiple imprints, but to control them. Now he was Alpha in his own right, and Paul was a respected comrade. But Paul was dead. When Alpha had learned of Paul's death, just above ground outside of the Dollhouse, he'd raced to retrieve the body. He didn't know why then, only that he couldn't leave it topside to be brutalized. He'd been quick, stealthy, and in the miscellaneous brawls out in the street, no one had even seen him come and go. He'd been thankful for the knowledge of the entire layout of the Rossum building, because the lab had something he needed: a cryo chamber to store Paul's body until he figured out the next step. With power restored to the Dollhouse (thanks to him), he had power in the lab as well.

Then had come Topher's plan to reverse the global memory wipes, and Alpha had given an excuse for why he needed to be elsewhere when the wipe-reversal took place. The lie he told was unbelievable, and had everyone not been so goddamed desperate, they might have questioned him further. The truth was, no way on earth would he go above ground for the reversal, and risk losing his imprints, his memories. They'd said he would adapt, that he would somehow find a way to not be affected. Right. If that were true, then Echo would have been out in the world for the big fix too, but she wasn't. She was tucked safely underground, because losing the imprints, losing her collective memories, was too much of a risk. It was a larger risk for Alpha, who'd been well on his way to becoming a serial killer even before the Dollhouse had fucked with his mind. Anyway, he wasn't going to take the chance. What he was going to do, instead, was hide in the lab and try to find a way to bring Paul Ballard back from the dead. And he didn't need anyone arguing with him about it.

It was for Echo. She hadn't turned out the way Alpha had hoped, years ago, and he was glad. She was better. Magnificent. He'd wanted her to be his Omega, his counterpart, and though she had evolved into something similar to himself, she was all Echo. He respected her. He loved her.

But it didn't matter.

Every single piece of Echo loved Paul Ballard. It was written all over her. They had been inseparable for years and years, taking on each mission together, fighting side-by-side, moving as one. Paul was all over her, on every inch of her skin, every cell of her body. Alpha could see it. Without Paul, it wouldn't be long before Echo gave up on it all. She wouldn't survive without him.

Alpha could have imprinted Paul into himself. He'd thought about it, sure. Echo would have been angry, but she'd have come around sooner or later. How nice, to finally have his equal for himself.

But it would have been wrong, or something. There was some reason he couldn't go through with it. It felt like a betrayal. So he'd left the wedge of Paul's personality for Echo, to keep her occupied while he was bringing Paul back to life, to keep her somewhat content if things didn't work out. He'd slipped in and taken the larger tech components of the chair before they destroyed it for good. Alpha didn't know, at first, how ruined Paul's brain would be this time—he might actually need the tech to restore Paul's personality, if it got that far.

Alpha worked. Weeks went by, then a month. Retrieving the bullet, rebuilding Paul's brain, working out an electrical system to get his heart beating again. If anyone could do it, it was Alpha. He snuck into the kitchen every few days and stole just enough food to sustain him while he toiled in the lab.

Paul would be pissed, maybe, to know that Alpha was working on him like this. He had never trusted the technology (with good reason), and he probably wouldn't care for the science of it all either. But he'd be happy to be back with Echo. And it was all for Echo anyway.

It took two months to make it happen, to finally wake Paul. Alpha was focused, quiet. He hadn't spoken to another soul (save the lifeless body of Paul Ballard) since he'd unofficially left the Dollhouse before the wipe reversal. He clicked a few switches on the machine next to the table and waited.

Until Paul's eyes opened. His jaw twitched as he noticed the wires attached to his body, as his eyes took in the machines. Then he glared at Alpha, his mouth moving in an effort to speak until his voice, weak from disuse, finally worked its way from his throat.

"What the hell?" He sputtered, jerking, immediately trying to remove the wires from his chest.

"Paul Ballard," Alpha said with a smug smile. Frankenstein had nothing on him.

Hidden away in her pod in the middle of the day, Echo was the last to know that Paul was alive. Alpha led him through a secret door and into the Dollhouse, just like the old days.

Momentary panic ensued, first as Adelle, Tony, and Priya tried to work out whether Alpha's former persona was back after the wipe reverse, and then again when they saw FrankenPaul, who hardly looked like a person brought back from the dead. Alpha had done a fantastic job, if he did say so himself (and he did). Paul looked exactly like the Paul Ballard who'd been shot in the head. Sounded and acted like him too. As it turned out, Paul's memories were surprisingly intact; Alpha hadn't even needed to use the wedge. Paul remembered everything, up until the bullet pierced his skull.

The small group crowded around him, hands touching his face in disbelief while he scowled, uncomfortable with the attention. "Where's Echo?" he asked.

They all fell silent, which caused more panic, this time on Paul's part. "Where is she? What happened?" He'd come back to her, through some nightmarish miracle, and now she was dead. Or hurt. Something so bad that no one wanted to tell him. It was his fault. He'd sworn to always be by her side, to always protect her (even though she so rarely needed it). He thought of the script he'd read to her when he'd taken the position as her Handler. Do you trust me? Then he'd gone away, and something had happened. His jaw ached from the tension. "Where's Echo?" He asked again.

"It's okay," Tony said, finally. "She's just in her pod. She doesn't really come out anymore, not since…" he looked at Paul pointedly, "you know."

"Since what?" Paul asked.

"Surely you're not that daft, Mr. Ballard," Adele said.

"She loves you, you idiot," Priya said. "She was devastated when you died. All she wants to do these days is stay in her pod and talk to herself." She looked down. "Or, well, to you."

"She…what?" Paul asked. "I'm imprinted? In her? All of my memories?" So his walls were gone, no more defenses, and yet he would never get all of her.

"You missed the point," Tony said.

"She's broken." The statement came from Alpha.

"Yes." Adelle nodded, then looked pointedly at Paul. "Go fix her."

There was a tap on the door of her pod, and she opened her eyes. She could see the dark shadow of someone standing over her. Strange, no one ever bothered her here. No one really bothered her at all, these days. She knew it was her fault, but it was too much of an effort to try. She was so tired of it all.

Irritated, she pulled on the little latch she'd installed to open the pod from the inside, and slid it down. As soon as she saw him, she froze, the pod door pulled down just enough that her head was exposed.

It was Paul. She blinked. She'd gone crazy, finally. All of these years with all of these imprints in her head. She thought she'd mastered them, but clearly she was wrong. Paul couldn't be here. Paul was dead.

"You…" she choked out a sob. If she was losing her mind, maybe she would just roll with it. Because Paul looked good. She'd forgotten how good he looked, how much she loved the way he looked at her. He was exactly the way she remembered him, except for the small scar at his temple and the clothes he had on. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been wearing that long, badass coat that she would never admit that she loved. Now, he was wearing Doll clothes: black sweatpants and a maroon v-neck t-shirt, similar to what she, herself, was wearing. Bare feet. She swallowed, let her eyes roam from those pale feet up his legs, to those flexed arm muscles, and finally his face. Pale pink lips, defined cheekbones, the strong line of his jaw.

"Echo," Paul said, sinking to his knees, using his hands to pull the pod door down the rest of the way. She stared, trance-like, at the dry skin of his knuckles as he slid the door away from her. She knew those hands. Those hands had touched her, touched her like a fellow warrior and touched her like a lover, when she'd allowed it. She couldn't remember why she would have ever denied herself his touch.

She couldn't bring herself to move a muscle; if she did, this madness might end. And she wanted to hold onto this vision of him. Having him inside of her mind had been enlightening, and devastating. Because he loved her, there was no doubt. In the beginning, it had been obsession with Caroline, but it had turned into something deeper. He loved every bit of her, every piece that made up Echo. She'd always known it, truth be told, but it had been so much easier to deny it before he was there, in her head. Before she could see and feel the truth of it.

And now he was here, in the flesh, those hazel eyes staring into hers. He cleared his throat.

"Are you real?" she whispered, even though he couldn't be. She'd seen his dead body, bullet hole marring his smooth forehead. She lifted up a hand to touch his face, then pulled it back. If she touched him, he might disappear, evaporate into the air like the hallucination he was.

But he grabbed her hand with his own.

"Echo," he said, again. "Echo, I'm real." He felt real enough, warm hand gripping her own.

"You can't be. I'm…oh God, I'm broken."

"You're not. I'm here. Alpha did something…I don't know what. But I was gone, and now I'm here again."

"This is in my head. You're in my head."

Paul chuckled, and the noise sounded real enough. "I heard about that. I wish you hadn't done it. Now you know all my secrets. Will I ever know yours?"

"What did Alpha do?"

"He brought me back…somehow. I don't know if it was right, or wrong, or what. All I know is I'm here."

She shook her head back and forth, because it was too good to be true. "Why? Why would he do that?"

Paul leaned down, holding her hand against his cheek. "For you."

Echo sat up in the pod, finally, taking the risk that he might vanish, that he might float away from her again. He didn't. She put her other hand on him, against the neck of his shirt, letting it slide down to the hard muscles of his arms. He felt real because he was; he was here in front of her, when she thought he'd disappeared forever.

"Paul." She tugged him down into the small pod, surprise on his face as he tumbled on top of her. She pulled him to her, arms wrapped around him, hard. "Paul." He could feel the warm wetness of her tears against the shoulder of his t-shirt. Then her fingertips were at the hem of his shirt, tugging it off of him. Her hands were all over him, against the smooth expanse of his chest, around his waist, on his freckle-covered back as she pulled him closer. She couldn't get him close enough.

It was all so strange that he almost wanted to ask if she was real. All this time, and he'd wanted her like this, open to him. Wanting him. Turns out all he'd had to do was die to get her here.

She clung to him. Now that she'd touched him, she couldn't accept that he wouldn't disappear if she let go. She pulled at his sweats until they slid off of his hips.

"Echo," he said, his voice a murmur in her ear. "This isn't exactly private."

"No one comes down here," she said.

He propped himself up on his forearms and looked at her.

"Please," she whispered.

He slid her shirt up slowly, carefully, taking it all in. The swooshing sound of her shirt as he pulled it over her head, the brown spill of her hair on the pillow as he tossed the shirt out of the pod. Those eyes. That look. He pulled her yoga pants off, along with her cotton underwear. She'd been beneath him before, but she'd never looked at him like that.

He took the time he'd always wanted to, touching places she'd never allowed him to touch before. He slowly pushed himself inside her. He couldn't hold back a moan. How long since she'd been with anyone? How long since he had?

She let out a moan of her own. It was different this time. She could feel herself letting him in, not just physically, but emotionally. She was surrounded by him, the physical Paul Ballard inside of her, and the imprint tucked away for now, but whispers of him still slipping into her consciousness.

"How long?" he asked.

"Since we've done this?" She gripped his hips to pull him farther inside, and they both gasped.

"Since you have."

"Same thing," she said. He stared at her. "Only you. For a while now." He shouldn't have been so surprised—it wasn't like there were so many options out there now. She wasn't an Active anymore. Still, it meant something.

They moved together, her hands in his hair, on his face. Had she ever been this aware of anything before? Had she ever felt so much?

Paul said her name as he thrust into her, hard and slow. He wanted to save it, to save this moment, but his body had other ideas. He knew well enough how to push her over the edge, so he did, pushing inside as far as she could take him in.

"Paul!" Echo gasped. He could feel her letting go, and he did too, spilling inside of her as she clung to him.

He collapsed onto her, and still she held onto him. Don't let him disappear now. The strongest warrior he knew, holding on to him so tightly. "You're really here," she said.

"I'm here."

"I missed you."

"I'm glad." He wound his hands gently into her hair, kissing her face, eyelids, neck.

"I should have told you," she said, her eyes closed, head tilted back as he kissed her. "I should have told you years ago."

"Told me what?"

"That I love you."

"What?" He stopped kissing her, and looked at her with an expression of wild disbelief. He knew that she cared for him, somewhere in there—he just never thought she'd admit it.

"I love you. I do." The words didn't hurt like she thought they would. After losing him, they were easy to say.

She curled a leg around his. "Let me show you," she whispered.

He smiled at her, one of those small smiles that was uniquely him. "We've got, what? Another year or so underground? Please, keep me occupied."

He was real. He was here. And he was hers.

The End.