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Emma's awakening is typical of a hangover. Blood pulsed in her head, or at least, the cooling fluid. Paul is across the room from her, working away on something in their dreadfully small apartment.
As soon as she could register she was awake, she noticed something was gone. Her balance core was missing, a mini gyroscope to keep her from constantly toppling over. She needed it badly, just sitting on the counter felt like hopping around on 1 leg, trying to keep herself upright.
“You wanna give that back soon?” She complained.
Paul turned back to look at her, and frankly, he looked like shit . He barely got a word out before she interrupted.
"Oh, You look like shit."
Paul snickered. "Good morning." He approached with the core in his hand. She let him pop off the plate over her stomach and reach into the cavity. He gently resoldered the gizmo in place, and snapped it into its proper compartment in her chest.
Emma clicked her chestplate back on and hopped down. She cradled his cheek in her hand. She licked her thumb and gently wiped a patch of dried blood on his chin. He winced, but let her continue. "Paul. How long has it been?"
"Since those shitheads knocked you out?" Emma nodded.
"Like, a few hours. 4?" He stuttered.
Emma looked wide-eyed. "Look, Paul, I appreciate you getting my head screwed on right again or whatever, but... Jesus..." She continued. Paul's eyes struggled to his hands, nervously fidgeting.
"I can get repaired as many times as I need. I could get left in a storage closet for 15 years and still get tuned up fine, but you don't work like that, Paul."
"It's scary, though."
"Not as scary as your goddamn face right now, that's for sure." Emma sassed.
Paul let out a short grinning breath and Emma placed a peck on his forehead.
"Fuck." He groaned. "I have work tomorrow. Mr. Davidson’s gonna be on my ass about showing up to work like this." His gaze shot back to his bruised hands.
"Ehh. A little concealer will help cover this up. Getting the blood off your face will also help a significant amount more."
"I'll run you a bath. What are we doing for dinner tonight?" Emma asked.
"We got takeout yesterday..." He pondered. "Oh, don't we have a frozen lasagna in the fridge?"
Emma threw a bath towel at him. "That works."
Paul emerged from the bathroom, swiping a towel through his damp hair. The apartment was toasty and smelled faintly of fake mozzarella. Faint murmurings of Peter Falk's voice emanated from the other room.
Emma was about halfway through an episode of Columbo, “Murder by the book.”
“Haven't we seen that one?” Paul whispered as he threw a blanket around himself.
“Yeah. It's a good one.“ Emma whispered dreamily.
Paul (Or at least, the Paul who made these memories) remembered watching the DVD as a bored teen. His dad would insist on family movie night, but the only thing that ever really hooked him back then was this weird, terrible detective show older than him.
Flash forward 10 or so years, it was nearly their own inside joke. He even gave her a ring with a glass “Eyeball” design on it. He noticed she found herself spinning it whenever she pointed out Columbo's glass eye was veering off.
It was a cheap show, and sort of a terrible show, but he never got tired of it.
“Ah...just one last question.”
“I think our readers will want to know how the death of your partner will affect the Mrs.Melville books?”
“I'm afraid when I buried Jim, I buried Mrs. Melville with him.”
“I understand.”
Emma suddenly got up and walked out of the room.
”Alright there?“ Paul shouted.
”Yeah, just a second!“ She yelled back.
She came back with a small, clear plastic box of makeup. She never really wore any (Except for eyeliner), unless it was a special occasion.
"Give me your hand."
She gently held his wrist as she swept a pigmented yellow eyeshadow over his bruise, followed by a dab of concealer over it. She gently smeared it with her fingers before taking the brush to it, trying not to apply any pressure at all. By the time she was finished, his hand looked nearly better than before.
She put her materials back and put the box by her feet. Before she could think of snuggling into him, The timer went off. Paul said he'd get it, but she still followed.
Paul cautiously lifted the lasagna out, glistening in the admittedly harsh lights of their kitchen. Emma snuck a brownie out of the fridge and held it in her mouth, holding out a chunk for Paul.
"Can't really have those anymore." He said, hanging his mitt back up. "They just freak me out." Emma shrugged and put it back. ”Right.“
He nabbed a bottle of cheap bourbon from the cabinet and a nice fancy glass for it, wedding gifts from Ted and Bill respectively. He held up the bottle, it was the only gift Ted had ever given him, and it was almost certainly his last. He went missing just after their wedding, and that was a shame, too. Paul sometimes wishes he could have strangled the life out of his eyes personally .
They dined and laughed.
Before she let herself wink off to sleep, she faintly mouthed something or another. Paul tilted his head.
“How many of.. ‘Em did I knock out before I went down?”
Paul smiled. “Four out of six.”
Emma grumbled. “That’s not so im.. Impressive.”
Paul hugged her tighter. “I’m impressed!”
“Like you’re some sorta badass yourself.” She teased.
Paul thought for a minute. “Emma, do you ever think we might just live to see… Well, I don’t know. The years of our own creation?”
Emma paused. The show had long since stopped, so all she could hear was her own mechanisms in her head. “I hope not.”
“It could happen. They designed me to grow faster and live longer than a human, and you? You’re basically unkillable.”
Emma squeezed his hand. “I’m also too tired to keep answering this existential shit.”
Paul laughed a little harder than he meant to, and then fell into silence.