Roger's eyes snapped open. He was lying on the floor of the penthouse, his head raised and supported. He looked up to see Dorothy looking down at him gravely, one hand arrested in the act of stroking his hair.
"Dorothy!" he whispered. He sat up, taking her hand in his. Her headband was gone, along with the mechanism behind it. He tightened his grip momentarily, and she gave him a faint smile and returned the squeeze.
"Dorothy," he repeated, "you're awake!" He rose to his feet, drawing her up with him. They faced each other, her hands on his forearms; then he gave a shout of joy and swept her into his arms.
When he pulled back and opened his eyes, he saw her regarding him with frank curiosity. "Do you think our relationship is going to change?" She spoke with Dorothy's voice, but the words and intonation were Angel's. For a moment, her outline seemed to waver.
He swallowed. "I think...it already has." He scanned the room, looking for some clue to Dorothy's peculiar words. The room looked much as it had when he brought her home the last time. Sheets covered the smashed or disheveled furniture. The broken piano sulked from its station near the shattered French doors.
"How were you able-?" He stopped when he saw Dorothy's face. It had subtly altered; the planes of her cheeks were more prominent, her pupils shrunk to pinpricks. She smiled broadly, and Roger felt a cold wave down his spine.
"Negotiator, I love you!" she crowed, and closed her arms around his chest.
"Dorothy, no!" He tried to release her grip, but he was trapped, as he had been before. Inexorably her arms tightened against him, bending his ribs. He felt a 'crack' inside and a sharp pain. With the last of his breath, he groaned, "You're Dorothy, not R.D. I love you."
Suddenly piano music was all around him, and the android and the room faded to darkness.
Roger's eyes snapped open. He lay, tangled in his bedsheet, on his bed. Dorothy's playing came clearly through the closed door.
Roger smiled.