Epilogue

Paul's problem, everyone always said, was that he didn't know when to quit. He didn't know how to recognize that something was a lost cause. He didn't know when to realize that it just wasn't going to happen.

So ten years pass, and he's in Alpha's head, and he's still fighting the guy for control like they haven't done this song and dance a trillion times by now. Since Day One, since Alpha thought he'd use his own special imprint of Paul in order to figure out the inner workings of Echo's delicate mind (the joke was on him, because Paul knew jack shit about what went on in her head) Paul has been constantly fighting him for control.

Since Alpha's corruption via Paul's perseverance, and the establishment of Alpha's conscience (which was really Paul's conscience), Alpha has been more bearable to live with (in), but Paul wants freedom. He wants control. And although Alpha's been willing to make many concessions over the years, he's never going to give Paul that.

One of those said concessions is a memory they both recall now, as they watch Echo slide gracefully down the rope and to the Dollhouse floor. In that memory, it was two years ago, and Alpha had given Paul full rein for a conversation with her. This was new, because every conversation he'd managed to have with Echo so far had always been strained by the fact that Alpha was constantly trying to edge his way back in.

But it was the last night before they (Paul always referred to them as separate entities, but Alpha only referred to them as one) were leaving for Reno. And even though Paul hadn't realized yet that they wouldn't be returning to Safe Haven, he's pretty sure that Alpha knew. That Alpha only gave him control because he expected to never see Echo again, and due to his gradually developed conscience, felt bad enough about it to offer some sort of compensation.

So Paul had kissed her with Alpha's lips. She hadn't resisted, but he felt her muscles tense under his fingers as he brought his hand up to the back of her head, to tangle his fingers in her hair. The kiss was brief, but passionate, and when he had opened his eyes, he could almost pretend for a second that this was normal. That this was his body. That this wasn't total shit.

"He's me, you know," he said of the imprint in his body, and she shook her head.

"Don't pretend you don't understand it, Paul," she said tightly.

And he did, that was the thing. He understood that she was so afraid of letting anyone in that she'd deny his body's fidelity until she was blue in the face. She could spend eight years sleeping with the man, but she would pretend that it was all just a fantasy, that none of it was real, because she would rather pretend that his death wouldn't matter than accept the fact that it would.

"Just because you convince me that I'm not worth it, it doesn't mean that you can convince yourself."

"You know I love you."

"Then tell him that!" Paul had exclaimed. He had never referred to his body as anything other than "I" in eight years, but for the first time he acknowledged the painful truth: he would never be going back. "For God's sake, Echo. He's me. He's dying for you to throw him a bone. Please. Please just let him in. Let me in."

She just shook her head and walked away, but not before kissing him one last time.

Not before giving him a sad smile goodbye.

And now? Now, he's standing in front of her in Alpha's body, and Alpha is smiling with his own lips, and Alpha is hugging her with all the gusto of an old friend. Paul's like a dog at the door, scratching to get out. He wants to feel her with those fingertips that aren't his own. He wants to kiss her hair, he wants to watch her eyes light up.

But then he hears that his body is dead, and he sees the pain that Echo isn't showing. He sees the hysteria, the loneliness, the horror that she's suppressing.

Shit, says the voice that isn't so much a voice as it is a thought. But not his own. It's Alpha, turned inward.

I'm dead, Paul replies numbly. A vaguely comforting feeling washes over him, and he's suddenly given all the sensations of a body. Alpha rarely does this, because it's the kind of thing you have to concentrate on, at least in the beginning, and Alpha doesn't like to bother. But now he wants to make sure that Paul realizes that he does have a body, in here, in his mind, where it's safe. Paul almost smiles, but doesn't.

Not that it matters, because Alpha knows.

You're not dead. You're here. She'll take some comfort in that, eventually.

Paul doesn't actively think the thoughts, but he sends emotions and notions in Alpha's directions. Stuff like, I wonder if she told him, and I wonder if she still loves me, and Will she take the comfort I can offer?

Alpha shrugs, shrugs his shoulders, ignores the odd look that Tony gives him, and then says, out loud, "We'll find out eventually, old friend."

After ten years, though, Paul has sort of figured out when Alpha's trying to do something without him realizing. And right now, he can tell that Alpha's thinking about something. He can tell that it's something to help Echo, because every tiny snippet of thought that Paul manages to get through Alpha's mental force field is Echo. Or it's an image of Echo's tear-stained face, or an image of Paul's own blood-splattered body.

Every time he tries to ask, he only gets stony silence in response.

And it's only when Alpha speaks the words aloud to Topher and Adele that Paul understands.

"I've had him in my head for ten years. And I know, I know, that the imprint you gave him eventually evolved. I know that he came to love her again. But this, this infuriating man inside my head was the direct copy. The hardlink to Paul Ballard. And, not to glorify my past sins, but I think we all understand how good it is to have this copy at the moment."

"What are you saying?" Adele asks, although the smirk that starts to twist across her face seems to suggest that she knows the answer already.

"I'm saying I need you to operate this chair one more time, Topher," Alpha says. "I need you to take Paul Ballard out of my head, and I need you to put him back in his wedge."

"For Echo?" Topher asks, in a rare moment of total clarity. Total, uncompromised clarity.

He'll be dead soon, Paul knows. Dead to save them all. Adele puts her hand to her mouth and closes her eyes. And even though she scares the shit out of him, Paul has never wanted to hug anyone more in his life. She's losing a son. She's losing the boy she has loved for ten years as if he was her own.

She's losing….

But suddenly, it's all black. It's all gone.

And then he steps into a dark room. It's black all around, but he can feel solidity under his feet, and he can pull oxygen from the air, and he can feel his fingertips and his feet and every extremity he hasn't felt for years. And Echo's there with him, standing in front of him. Her smile is wide, relieved, and so real. This isn't Alpha's version of Echo. This is Echo. This is her mind.

He feels the tension go out of muscles he doesn't really have, and he asks, "Am I? Are we?"

Echo smiles wider and says, "You wanted me to let you in."

They have all the time in the world, she says. And she's right. They have forever.

And while living in Alpha's mind was cold and lonely no matter how much he and Alpha started to not hate one another, living in Echo's mind is warm. It's soft. It's like pillows and silky skin and down comforters. He feels the movement of her fingers as they brush through her hair, and he feels her body against his as if it were real. As if he was real. And he is, he thinks, in a way.

She smiles against his ear, and he can feel it like he's the one smiling, too.

"This is strange," he says, but he likes it. He can feel both of them, and she can feel both of them too, and it's like they're one being living in two bodies, instead of two beings living in one.

"This is perfect," Echo argues, her tone dreamy, affected in a way that he's never heard her sound before. Gone is the cynicism. Gone is the cold detachment. This is the girl he saved ten years ago. This is the girl who called him, who asked for his help, who lived with him for three months. This is the girl who wants him and has him. And this is the only thing he could have asked for. This is more than he could have asked for.

And when a year goes by, they'll go above ground. They'll find the world slowly but carefully making its way back to some kind of normalcy. Adele will be there, and Dominic will be there (unprinted and standing one half-step behind Adele as always. Because seconds after being unprinted, he had of course set out for the Dollhouse, had of course set out to where he knew Adele would be. Because he knew that if anyone could reset the world, it would be her, and it would be Topher, and he had returned to her just hours after she had started piecing the world back together). They will find people they never expected to see again, people they thought were surely dead, and they will find happiness and hope and perseverance.

And it will be beautiful, but for right now that doesn't matter. Because right now it's just them.

It's just Paul and Echo. And there's no reason for her to fear that he will leave, that he will die, because she can protect him. She can nestle him close in her mind forever. No stray bullets will come between them. No fears about validity will haunt them. No stony cold silences will occur with them.

And no matter what, no matter what, they will be together forever. And that's the only thing that matters.

At least for this year, it will be the only thing that matters.