After returning him from the hospital and sitting down at his desk, the grey feed on his monitor like dingy glass in a mirror, Hap has time and space to think. It was outrageous, Joan's behavior. It's changed their relationship, irrevocably. But it doesn't have to adversely affect the work. Free of pretense, they can pursue it with renewed rigor.

It will mean gassing her regularly. That's the price she pays — Hap harbors no delusion that it will be a burden they share. Another opportunity for Joan to prove her strength.

For his own safety, Hap doses her before the tranquilizer is due to finish wearing off. His wrist in a cast and the purpose of the gas well-known to the others, he doesn't bother with hefting her into a wheelchair. Just walks her up the stairs as Homer and the rest jeer, invigorated by Joan's rebellion. In her bedroom, he straps each of her limbs to the bedframe. Electrodes applied, he draws the curtains closed on the window and leaves. Her readings alert him to her rousing shortly before she calls out.

Hap opens the door. Stepping through, he leaves it ajar. He looks into her eyes with his ambivalence held in check. To be cold would be showy. He has no reason to compensate for anything anymore.

"Hello, Joan."