Hatchetfield.

I know what I want now

"Oh... Emma..."

Paul tried to recount exactly what had brought him to kneeling by his dying crush, with her bleeding from her leg and coughing up blood in his face. Had he been told just yesterday that he would be in this situation, he would have shaken it off with a laugh, but now all he could think about was Emma. Dying. Emma was dying, for lack of a better term. If they didn't get medical help for her, there was no way she wouldn't bleed out. And she'd asked him to kiss her, only to cough up blood. In his face. Well that had killed the mood.

"Oh yeah... that's a lot of blood... uh... I think that... I think that's all of it so get back in here.."

Paul felt Emma gently tug on his tie to pull him forward once again. His eyes reflected concern rather than disgust, even if a small part of him was disgusted. Her grip was clearly faltering and the gentle tug was evidently not from a conscious decision on Emma's part. Had she hit her head in the crash? She must have had some broken bones, but how badly was her internal bleeding?

A small, devious voice in his head reminded him that she hadn't fastened her seatbelt, and so her injuries were partially her own fault but he quickly brushed the thought off. Paul found himself taking the hand that Emma had on his tie into his, using his other hand to push the loose strands of her hair behind her ear. Clearly his touch had gotten her attention, as her eyes moved up and met his, taking a couple of moments to fully focus on him. This made Paul sigh;

'Poor Emma,' he thought, 'she's suffering. She's suffered enough and she's still suffering.'

Removing his hand from behind her ear, he reached around his neck, loosening his tie and shimmying it over his head. He looked at the tie in his hand. It was seemingly normal to most people, but not to him. The tie had been a gift from Bill, a birthday gift. Paul had never been one for celebration, but his best friend had always insisted on getting him a new tie and a slice of cake from Beanies on his birthday. Paul always went along with it, if only to not upset Bill. And now he wished he could have experienced that special little celebration just once more. But Bill was dead, and he was certain that he would want him to put this tie to good use.

Taking Emma's hand out of his own, he undid and took the ribbon from around her neck before turning his attention to her gaping wound. He knew they probably didn't have much time until one of those... things... turned up, the crash had been more than loud enough to inform the creatures of their location. He didn't have time to be disgusted or be a wimp. He didn't need to think about himself now, he wanted Emma to live. He wanted to take her to that nice silent movie. He wanted to start dating her. He wanted to be with her. He wanted Emma.

Sucking in a tight breath, Paul began to firmly wrap the wound with his tie first, and then her ribbon. He was careful to keep it tight, not wanting her to continue bleeding, while also conscious of the piece of metal sticking out of her leg and being cautious of moving it too much. The makeshift bandage wasn't perfect by any means but it would do. For now it would prevent her from bleeding out any more, and hopefully would limit the chance of infection.

"There... there Emma... you're going to be okay. I'll... I'll go blow up the meteor and then we'll find a way to contact P.E.I.P and we'll... we'll go from there."

Paul watched Emma's expression become more hopeful and suddenly the belt of grenades he had over his shoulder held more weight than before. He wasn't just going to blow up the meteor at the Starlight to kill these things, he was going to do it for Emma, to save her, so that he could take her to the film that he'd wanted to invite her to for years now. He knew what he wanted and he wanted it more than anything he'd ever wanted before. Before Emma could speak again, he cupped her cheek and leaned in, grateful that she did so in return and didn't pull away. The kiss was not fast and hot, it was slow, gentle, conveying every emotion that Paul felt for Emma. He wanted her to know that, if he didn't come back or if he did and she didn't make it, that there was something. It didn't last long, as Paul pulled away, only returning his face to the close proximity with Emma's when she pulled him forward.

"I'll look after myself, but if those things get you, they're never going to be stopped and you'll have to sing and dance and be trapped in a musical... be careful Paul... now go."

He felt a new sense of determination as he stood. He knew what he wanted. And he was going to get it. With one last deep breath, Paul left Emma and made his way to the Starlight Theatre with one thing on his mind.

'I. Don't. Like. Musicals.'