How likely is that? If Season One was about finding her, and allowing her to find him, across all the galaxies. And if Season Two was about the darkness in him, staving her off, going crazy, eating itself. And if Season Three was about her discovery -- this just in! -- that happy endings don't exist; that endings don't exist. Then Season Four is about the question, old as time, the question the heart that loves has to answer every day, on into history: How can you be sure? What if she's a robot? What if she's an assassin, Harvey's Lovely Daughter, the laughing Pwintheth, the scowling doctor dominatrix? What if she hates you? What if she never loved you? What if she's a spy? What if she's a whore? What if she's been watching you fall in love, and fight it, and cried tears because that's what was required, to bring you home again? What if she's just keeping her eye on you? What if she's a terrorist, sneaking bombs and landmines into your heart at every opportunity, and waiting for the chance to disappear forever? It's unavoidable and ugly: How can the heart that loves ever trust what it holds dearest? The only thing the show ever takes is what you love the most -- how can you be so sure that the next irony isn't just around the bend? How can you have faith in love, when the entire universe has its sights set on destroying love before all else? How can you be so stupid? How can you be so brave?

"I thank you for being with us; there will be more in the days and weeks ahead. But, for now, from New York, this is R. Wilson Monroe saying good night." And the lights go out.